Airport'79 - The Concorde - The Conclusion
by gluegirl56
Summary: Federation World Airlines Concorde crashed at a Swiss Alpine Resort without any fatalities. A miracle some people say but Captain Metrand and the rest onboard the ill-fated flight knows better and News Anchor Maggie Whelan is determined to tell the world the truth. Will she, the flight crew and the investigators be able to piece everything together before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

_/It really helps to have watched the movie before reading this ;)_

 **Airport ´79 – The Concorde**

 **The Conclusion**

 **Chapter One** – The Alps Dead Ahead

Captain Paul Metrand grimaced as the sound of a sharp voice penetrated the haze surrounding his brain. Awareness came to him gradually, he registered a seeping coldness that seemed to chill him to the bone and then the smell of aviation fuel, all mixed together with vomit and broken bottles of beer and whiskey from the cabin. He fought to open his eyes and moaned at the effort. Draped over the yoke he stared dumbstruck at the broken windscreen before him and at the snow in his lap. It took him a moment to remember. Then suddenly Captain Joseph Patroni's sharp voice came through loud and clear from the cabin behind him, telling the passengers to calm down. Paul groaned as he realized that the aircraft had been buried beneath the snow and that all the exits had been rendered inoperable. Basically, they were trapped.

Although he was an experienced pilot a slight feeling of panic took hold of him. He didn't want to die like this. A small voice at the back of his mind urged him to get his wits together and act like a professional. To get out of the chair and take command of the situation like he was supposed to do. It wasn't Patroni's flight – it was his. He slowly straightened in his chair, his frozen fingers fiddling with the release feature of the seatbelt.

Paul sucked on a breath as he struggled out of the chair and brushed off the snow of his uniform. "Come on, Peter, let's go," he said with more determination than he felt.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flight engineer, Peter O'Neill, snap out of his daze and slowly rose to follow as he made it out in the cabin. Paul worriedly let his eyes roam over the cabin and let out a sigh of relief as he finally spotted Isabelle, the head stewardess, among the terrified passengers. The woman looked pale, her young face tinged with a ghostly pallor. However, as their eyes met she seemed to relax and a small, although forced, smile appeared on her lips.

Then suddenly a voice rang out from above, cautioning them about a ladder being lowered.

Paul cast a hasty glance over his shoulder and saw that the cabin crew in the rear section was already struggling to evacuate the passengers via another ladder. He gently told the passengers sitting closest to the ladder, that was now being lowered into the forward section, to move aside and then reached up to grab it. The evacuation, although it was quite taxing, went surprisingly well as all the passengers quickly lined up and climbed to freedom, one by one.

'This is new,' Paul mused as he helped them. 'I've never trained for this scenario.'

Young and old began to file out of the aircraft but it was a slow and time consuming process. The already stressed hull of the aircraft was creaking forebodingly and the fumes of jet fuel was almost overpowering when the last passenger left the airliner.

By the time Paul heaved Isabelle up, by giving her a push on her butt, his arms trembled and his uniform shirt was soaked from the falling snow. Exhausted he shared a solemn look with the flight engineer who nodded as Paul indicated that he should go next. Peter didn't waste any time climbing to freedom.

"Go, "Joseph said seriously as he threw a quick glance toward the rear section of the aircraft.

Paul hesitated and then quickly followed Peter. The cold air chilled him to the bone as he was helped on top of the aircraft and he found that his teeth had started to clatter as he shrugged into a jacket handed to him by one of the rescuers. He leaned forward to give Joe a hand as the older captain appeared in the hole, climbing the last steps. Relieved to see him, Paul grabbed the other man's arm in order to help him up.

"If everyone is out in the rear sector then we're all out," Joe stated.

Paul was about to say he was glad all the excitement was over when the closest rescue worker hastily got up from his crouched position.

In English, with a slight Swiss accent, the man shouted that the roof was collapsing and that everyone had to get away from the plane.

The hair at the back of Paul's neck rose at the statement as he knew what would most likely happen if the construction of the Concorde was compressed. "Quickly!" he urged. "The fuel tanks are up front, they'll explode!"

Everyone scattered, heeding his warning, and Paul struggled to get away as his expensive low shoes lost grip in the snow. He pushed Joe forward before him as he felt the surge of adrenaline course through his exhausted body. After covering a distance of a few meters he heard a rumbling sound quickly followed by a shockwave that echoed off the mountains.

"My goodness, Paul," Joe mumbled seriously as he stared at the remains of the shiny new Concorde.

Paul chuckled as he placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward to catch his breath.

Isabelle quickly detached herself from the crowd of passengers nearby and ran to him, putting her arms around him, a small sob escaping her lips. "Paul," she whispered, her voiced tinged with worry and anxiety to the extent it broke his heart to hear it.

"I'm fine Isabelle," he whispered softly to her as he straightened and put his strong arms around her slender body.

It was then the cheering started among the onlookers, rescue crew and passengers alike, as they realized that it was over. Some whistled while others clapped their hands. Everywhere stood people with a smile on their face.

"It's over," Paul said reassuringly to Isabelle as two rescue workers appeared next to them.

"You are so cold," she whispered worriedly.

"Captain, ma'am," one of them began politely. "Please come with us."

Paul glanced around to talk to Joe and Peter only to realize that they'd already been taken away.

The rescue workers gently guided them to a waiting car, one of them jumping into the front passenger seat as soon as Paul and Isabelle were seated in the back. It was a quick ride and ended within two minutes outside a three story house with a red cross at the entrance.

Paul pursed his lips into a thin line to keep his teeth from clattering as a waiting nurse and another rescue worker appeared outside to help them out of the car.

"We're fine," he began, his French accent more pronounced than usual. It always grew thicker when he was annoyed or upset. He didn't want to be poked and prodded, asked what today's date was or if he remembered his name and so on. All he wanted was a hot bath at the nearest hotel, and to have a nice dinner alone with Isabelle in peace.

"Let me be the judge of that, captain," a stern male voice returned.

Paul looked toward the entrance and spotted a fiftyish, slim man, in a doctor's coat. The man didn't look like he would take no for an answer, and it didn't sound like it either, as he made his way toward them. His dark hair was speckled with grey at the temples and a slightly suntanned skin spoke of much outdoor activity.

"I've got a call from the International Flight Investigation Centre in Europe. A man called Henri Davies is apparently on his way here to talk to you. Meanwhile I have been instructed to complete a full examination of the flight crew."

Paul sighed wearily. 'IFIC or NTSB', he thought glumly. It didn't matter the name of the investigating organization, he wasn't looking forward to their interviews.

"By the look on your face it seems you know what's going to happen?" The doctor said.

Paul shivered from the cold but refrained from wrapping his arms around his body. "Where are our colleagues?" he asked.

"Your flight engineer, Mr. O'Neill, is being tended to by my staff. Captain Patroni is currently arguing with my wife," the doctor said with a twinkle in his eyes and then added; "He's one stubborn American."

"Cabin crew?" Isabelle asked worriedly. "Are they all right?"

"Don't you worry about them, they appear a little cold and shaken by the events, a few bumps and bruises, otherwise I'd say they're doing just fine." the doctor said reassuringly. "Now, get inside."

In resignation Paul took the lead with Isabelle close to his side. Inside there was a flurry of activity and people seemed to be everywhere. He recognized some of the passengers sitting dazed and tired in a waiting room and saw the rescue worker that had been helping them up from the plane as he walked by. The young and kind nurse that had accompanied the doctor at the entrance gently placed a hand on Isabelle's shoulder.

"Please come with me," she said in a friendly manner.

The head of the cabin crew hesitated, her arm hooked around the captain's. Right now Paul was her rock, she was still shocked by the accident and was unwilling to part from him.

"Come on, Isabelle," Paul said softly, trying to keep his teeth from clattering, as he tilted his head to look at her. "Let go of me. I'll come and get you later."

She swallowed, her eyes begging him not to let go.

"Isabelle," he encouraged softly. "It'll be fine."

The normally strong and certain flight attendant resigned and slowly turned to follow the waiting nurse. When she'd taken a few steps she glanced over her shoulder, looking stricken and lost for a moment but then, after a few encouraging words from the nurse, she straightened and followed her into another room.

He watched her leave and saw the tears threatening to spring from her eyes. She was upset and worried. Truth to be told he wasn't entirely comfortable either with everything that had been going on lately.

"A fling, captain?" The good doctor asked as he reappeared at his side.

Paul narrowed his eyes slightly, giving the man an indignant look, wondering for a brief moment if it was him or every captain that was being generalized. Many people assumed that being a pilot was a glassy job that didn't require much but carried great opportunities to travel. They also believed that the job title was an asset when it came down to getting women. A captain had a woman waiting for him at every destination. At least that was the general stereotypical picture. He had to admit that he hadn't been an exception, in fact he'd been pretty stereotypic in his early career life. However, lately he'd gotten time to think, to reflect upon his life and what he really wanted out of it. Yesterday he hadn't been able to sleep, instead he'd watched Isabelle snuggle next to him, her head on his chest and her hands gently draped over his torso. It was with a chilly realization that he'd finally understood the reason why he'd ran from Isabelle the first time and tried to keep away from her. He was afraid of commitment, afraid of responsibility, afraid of his own conflicted feelings.

When he'd found out that Isabelle would be on the same flight over the Atlantic two days ago he'd been filled with cautious joy and they'd taken up where they'd left off. At first he'd planned on leaving it at that but after the whole incident with the drone and the mad dash toward the ocean, he knew he needed something more. He needed Isabelle.

"Captain?" the doctor asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Paul blinked, taken back from his reverie. "My fiancée," he said without doubt.

"My mistake, my apology," the doctor offered softly yet his voice carried authority. "I'm Doctor Franz Horst."

"Captain Paul Metrand," he returned as they shook hands.

Doctor Horst grimaced. "You are cold, captain, and soaking wet if I'm not mistaken. Come this way," he said and gestured kindly toward an examination room. "My wife and I run this practice together in cooperation with the rescue workers. I have to say, its mostly skiing accidents that occur here. It's not every day an aircraft lands here, they usually fly over."

Paul nodded as he walked into the room. With a faint smile on his blue tinted lips he said sarcastically; "Would you believe me if I said this was my last resort?"

"My apologies, captain, I didn't mean for you to take it as implication of something it was not meant to be. I guess I'm a little shocked myself," the stern doctor said, his voice softer.

Paul was about to deliver a rather stinging remark but refrained from it as a junior doctor entered the examination room with an apologizing smile on his face.

Doctor Horst raised an eyebrow at the man and then nodded appreciatively. "Good of you to join us, Doctor Vesta," he quipped. "Now, let's get Captain Metrand out of his uniform and warm him up," he ordered before turning to the pilot who was now sitting on a gurney trying to unbutton his uniform shirt with shaky fingers.

"Shouldn't you take care of those who really got injured," Paul asked as annoyance crept into his voice.

Horst scrutinized him sympathetically for a moment as the younger doctor gently helped the captain out of his sodden clothes. The pilot before him was exhausted, the collarbones was already showing signs of bruising from where the straps had held him in place and there was a faint line of blood trailing his left temple down to his ear.

"Captain," he began seriously, albeit his voice was kind and friendly, his words carefully weighted. "I don't like the bluish tinge to your lips or the clamminess of your skin. Nor do I like the beginnings of the bruising on your upper chest-" he paused for a moment and then glanced over at his younger colleague. "I want an x-ray of head and chest as soon as possible. Call me the minute you have them," he said in a no nonsense tone before nodding to his patient and headed out the door.

Paul stared after him but he didn't have the energy to even remark about the sudden departure of the leading doctor, not seeing the worried look he was given by the younger man. "Tell me is he always that-" he trailed off looking for the right word. "Uptight?"

The junior doctor smiled amusedly. "Actually, captain, I think you've made quite an impression on him."

OOOOOO

 _To be continued_

 _Disclaimer for fanfiction see profile page._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two** – The Aftermath

Nurse Heidi Horst looked up from the file she'd been studying in the lab as her husband appeared in the doorway and gave him a rueful smile.

Their facility was top of the line and their moto was to offer top notch service to any injured person at the resort. They even had machines capable of x-ray and CT flown in from Geneva where Franz still worked occasionally. Doctor Horst was a highly respected man amongst colleagues and Heidi was considered to be one of the best nurses to graduate in her class. The unlikely couple had met up in the capital of Switzerland while being employed at the same renowned hospital. However, after being tired of doing the same thing for years without any real challenges Franz suddenly bought a large three story building at an Alpine Resort. Together with Heidi, and with the help of some carpenters, he managed to open a practice at the resort not long after the purchase. Despite the distance to Geneva some of Franz' old patients insisted on coming up to the little village for a follow up or a quick check up rather than change to a local GP. After being able to hire both doctors and nurses to their practice Franz had the opportunity to work in Geneva twice a week if he wanted to but he really didn't feel the need so he'd settled for a couple of days a month. They'd created a lifestyle that suited them well, away from low cut budgets, jealousy and a stressful environment.

However, the flight accident had caused a dreaded scenario that neither of them had considered even in their wildest fantasies. The pressure and the stress that they had left behind at the renowned hospital suddenly hit the little practice with full force, almost crushing them.

It was chaos outside, reporters appeared everywhere, vacationers crowded the streets since they couldn't ski and an addition of over one hundred people had just fallen out of the sky. The resources of the little police station not too far away from the resort was spread thin trying to keep the reporters and tourists away from the airplane.

The resort was popular this time of year and the Hotel was almost filled to the brim even before the Airliner crashed down the mountainside.

Heidi and Franz and their colleagues had tried to bring some order into the chaos and, together with the rescue workers, they'd managed to divide the passengers into categories depending on injuries. Amazingly a lot of people seemed to be no worse for wear even though several sported cuts, bruises and contusions. A helicopter had been ferrying off passengers of the ill-fated aircraft for hours but the number of people remaining seemed to be constant nevertheless.

"How's it coming?" Franz asked his wife as she labeled a sample of blood that would leave the practice with several others when the helicopter arrived on its next run.

"It's crazy, Franz," she complained lightly with a slight weariness in her voice. "There are so many people, it's even more crowded here than it was at the hospital when that tragic bus accident happened all those years ago."

"We're doing fairly well then," he said shortly. "Our staff are doing a marvelous job too."

Heidi nodded. "I just wish all those reporters would leave us alone," she said in a subdued voice. "It's not exactly helping the poor passengers involved in the accident."

OOOOOO

Nursemaid Wendy Thomas, an exchange student from Utah, glanced up as a man approached the desk just inside the entrance door. Tired of all the reporters trying to nestle themselves in one way or another she sighed and then nonchalantly fixed her eyes on the newcomer. "I'm sorry, sir. No reporters are allowed," she said dismissively.

The lean and slender man who appeared to be in his early fifties huffed as he reached into his worn leather jacket's pocket to retrieve a badge.

"Flight Investigator," he said succinctly.

Wendy rose an impeccable eyebrow before scrutinizing both him and the badge before her. "Well, Mr. Davies," she acknowledged. "Doctor Horst mentioned he'd got a call from you and that you were to be expected."

"Good," he said and put on a non-committed smile as he pocketed the badge. "I've seen the wreck, not much to salvage I am afraid. My team is setting up their gear as we speak. I do hope the police would be able to get the site clear of onlookers. Now, I'd like to see the pilots."

"With all due respect, Mr. Davies. They are not up to meeting you at the moment," she said sternly.

"I realize that you don't have many flight accidents up here so you do not understand our procedures but I didn't ask to see them. I demanded to see them," he finished.

"Is there a problem here?" A voice asked from behind the Investigator.

Davies whirled around and gave the doctor a questionable glance as the man approached him.

"I'm Doctor Horst, I run this practice in cooperation with my wife," he said and nodded toward the nurse trailing behind him with a box in her hand.

"Henri Davies, Flight Investigator," he said by way of introduction. "As I tried to explain to your nurse, I need to see the pilots."

The doctor nodded, hands on his hips. "Yes, I realize the importance. The question is if you realize that the flight crew has just survived a major accident?"

Davies nodded and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the doctor.

"It's been a long day for all of us and it's near midnight. We've preformed every test that you required and most of them have been sent away for analysis. You'll have every answer you want in the morning."

"How did they appear?" Davies asked, changing tactic.

"If you're asking if they seemed to have anything to hide or appeared nervous I'll have to disappoint you," Doctor Horst replied.

"What is wrong with you?" Heidi asked, unable to stay quiet any longer. "Everyone survived a terrible accident here not long ago. Several people saw it come down. Even on the radio channels they said they saw large holes at the underside of the aircraft. If your theory is pilot error then you might want to reconsider."

"I didn't say that," Davies protested. "I have to investigate the incident objectively. Like I mentioned before, had you listened, there are procedures to be followed."

"It appears I arrived just in time," another man's voice cut in, the tension in the air palpable. "My name is Geoffrey Alton, I represent the union," he said, looking from the investigator to the doctor and nurse. "Mr. Davies knows the proper procedure even though he doesn't seem to respect them at the moment."

The union representative and the flight investigator glared at each other briefly.

"Mr. Davies is most certainly considering the accident to be the outcome of a possible pilot error, which is a serious allegation to throw around. He and his team should be here to gather facts. In my mind there is no doubt that it was piloting skills that prevented this from turning into a disaster with 109 deaths," Alton said.

The lead investigator huffed.

"The problem with Mr. Davies in particular is that he assumes things without basic facts to back them up. Several months ago we closed an investigation on a particularly tragic accident which could have been avoided had the captain not deviated from his responsibility-" he trailed off and turned to focus on the medical personnel present. "I am afraid I can't discuss it further with you due to confidentiality but my point is that Mr. Davies choses to go for human error when he can."

"In that case I was right. You say pilot error is a serious allegation, Mr. Alton but to even suggest I'm not objective when filing a report from an accident site is ridiculous," Davies returned angrily.

"My apologies," he said quickly. "It's just that some statements upsets me more than others. The Concorde F-WTSC leased by Federation World Airlines was captained by two skillful pilots on this tragic trip."

"Other skillful pilots have made errors that has brought aircrafts down intentionally or not intentionally," Davies said, his voice softer than before.

The doctor and nurse shared a solemn look.

"You see, I'm not judging people or their actions prematurely," Davies reasoned. "I'm after the facts, the truth, about the so called accident. The Concorde manufacturer is going to demand it, Federation World Airlines is going to demand it. The passengers on the flight, the insurance companies, the general public-"

The union representative shook his head sadly. "Even though this accident took no lives, someone is going to be held responsible," he explained.

Doctor Horst sighed as he tiredly raked a hand through his thick hair. "I get the picture," he said. "Now, I'll allow both of you to see them in the morning. All of them. The flight crew is upstairs, residing in our bed and breakfast section together with two members of the cabin crew. The other three members of the cabin crew are staying at the hotel."

Davies resigned. "Very well. How are they?" he asked gently. "Some of the accidents I have to investigate are gruesome, most are actually. I have to keep reminding myself that this one had a happy ending."

"The members of the cabin crew are sporting various cuts and bruises from the rather rough landing," Horst explained.

"I saw the deep marks made by the aircraft," the flight investigator said solemnly.

"The flight engineer is doing fine, and considering the circumstances I'd say they all are. However, both captains are slightly hypothermic, their core temperature too low for my liking. There are various cuts and bruises, a soreness to muscle and tissue. Nothing of it should be considered uncommon given the nature of the accident. Amazingly nothing appears to be broken, there are no internal injuries that demands attention nor are there any concussions," the doctor finished.

"Our advice to you is to get a few hours of sleep," Heidi said kindly. The Hotel and guest houses around here are full due to the massive increase in, should I say, visitors lately. However, you're most welcome to stay here. We have one room left."

The tough Flight Investigator chuckled, his weathered face crinkling at the edges of his eyes at the offer. "I appreciate the offer but I'll head back to the accident site and see if anything important can be salvaged. I'll be back in the morning," he said and turned to leave.

Geoffrey Alton, the union representative and former pilot, watched Davis exit the building and then turned to Heidi. "Consider the room taken then," he let on lightly.

OOOOOO

Maggie Whelan was brought out of her light slumber as the helicopter landed at the Innsbruck International Airport. She was hurting, her head was sore and throbbing. Kind medics at the crash site had seen to her, gently stitched up her head wound and applied a bandage over it. She didn't have a concussion but the headache was severe enough and did nothing to help her think.

At first she'd stubbornly planned to fulfil her mission and go to Moscow but then she reconsidered and decided to head back home instead. The world had gone mad around her and everything had started when one of Kevin's employees had been murdered in her home. He didn't know that she was actually dating his CEO when he came to bring her evidence of foul play, he came to her because she was a famous reporter. When Kevin Harrison had met up with her in Paris to discuss the matter he had appeared calm but she was beginning to understand he had been anything but.

She gingerly exited the helicopter and was lead toward a regular airliner by a kind man clad in a black suit coming from Federation World Airlines. She hesitated, fear gripping her as she came to stand outside the aircraft.

"It'll be all right ma'am," the man assured her gently.

Maggie forced a smile on her lips as she tightened her grip around her portfolio. She took a deep breath and walked onboard.

A sleek, good looking flight attendant smiled at her and greeted her kindly before reaching behind her to shut the cabin door. "Thank you Paul, we've been cleared for take-off, Captain Wellington is already annoyed at the delay in departure so you better get the service people to release us," she said.

The name of the man that had guided her to the aircraft brought her back to the events of the day before.

" _Maggie," Joe said with a large grin. "I haven't seen you since the accident in Salt Lake."_

 _She couldn't help but to smile at the largely built, kind man in the captain's seat as her eyes settled on the younger man to his right. Oddly enough he also had four stripes on his shoulders._

" _This is Captain Paul Metrand," Joe said as he nodded toward his co-pilot. "Paul, this is Maggie Whelan."_

" _Hello Maggie, I'm a big fan of yours," he said charmingly in a French accented English as he turned toward her._

"Excuse me ma'am, can I help you to your seat?" the flight attendant asked kindly. "We're just about to take-off."

Sheepishly Maggie realized that she was standing just inside the door and nodded. "Yes, yes of course. I'm sorry, I was…caught up in something," she explained.

"That's all right, you must be shocked, considering the accident. It's all over the news. I'm glad you're still considering flying with the Federation," she said with a smile. "Please come this way."

Maggie collapsed in her given first class seat and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing for a moment. The flight attendant gently strapped her in and gave her shoulder a light comfortable squeeze.

Within a minute the airliner was rolling, accelerating down the runway until it broke contact with the ground and lifted. The Boeing 757 trembled slightly in the turbulent air before leveling out on her designated flight height and course.

Maggie jumped as the loudspeakers crackled before a voice came over the link.

" _Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Captain Wellington speaking, welcome aboard the Federation World Airlines Flight 137 from Innsbruck International Airport to Dulles International in Washington. We apologize for the slight delay but estimate that we'll be able to cut our flight time a bit shorter due to good weather conditions over the Atlantic Ocean. Our estimated time of arrival will be nineteen hundred hours. Enjoy your flight."_

Maggie chuckled ironically. Due to the time zones she would arrive at almost the same time as she left. She opened her eyes to stare out through the window just as the aircraft climbed over the storm clouds. The sun shone bright outside highlighting the aluminum colored parts of aircraft, temporarily blinding her. When she could see again she was mesmerized by the vivid colors of the horizon. She stared at it for a long time, not able to tear her eyes away.

"Ma'am I'm sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could get you anything?" the flight attendant asked kindly as she reappeared at her side.

"I don't know," Maggie began.

"Think about it for a moment and push the button when you're ready," she suggested. "It's on the house."

The news anchor nodded, appreciating the gesture. She waited till the attendant had walked down the aisle and opened the portfolio. It was time to really scrutinize Kevin Harrison's business arrangements.

OOOOOO


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three** – Friends and Foes

" _Stall warning!" Peter O'Neill voiced loud and clear behind him._

" _I hear it!" he replied._

" _Vibrations on the yoke," Joe stated._

" _You think I can't feel it?" he questioned in disbelief._

 _Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joe grabbing for the microphone, shouting into it for the passengers to brace for the impact. He desperately hoped that Isabelle was safely seated as the aircraft hit the ground and began to glide, horrendously fast, down the sloping mountain. The grip around the yoke was so hard that his fingers turned white but he didn't realize it, the only thing he was aware of was the ache in his already battered shoulders and collarbones when the seatbelt snapped tight, keeping him from bumping into the ceiling._

 _Automatically he shut down the engines and followed every procedure there was to follow, not that the brakes would actually make any difference since the wheels was probably long gone but it felt good to try and use them. He saw nothing but snow, wondering with increasing concern how long before the trees would effectively stop the aircraft from its run. There was a foreboding creak coming from the window before him and he narrowed his eyes as he saw a faint tear in the glass. Without thinking much about it he hastily let go of the yoke and flung his arms around his head in an effort to prevent the snow from hitting his face. He gasped as the cold and damp snow assaulted his upper body together with the remains of the broken windscreen. It felt like running into a wall and fall into a frozen lake all at once. It kept coming at him, he didn't know how much more he could take; he had to get out of there-_

Captain Paul Metrand woke up gasping for breath, entangled in several layers of blankets. For a moment he didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He focused on slowing his breathing and calm himself down. His eyes trailed an IV line that had been attached to his arm but was now dangling from the pole next to his bed. He could just barely make out the droplets of blood on his arm in the faint light coming from the large single window. He let his head sink back into the comfortable pillow and stared at the white ceiling. He felt sore, lethargic, and awfully tired but he couldn't bring himself to sleep again. Instead he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a moment to gather himself before he rose unsteadily to his feet.

Paul reached for a light robe, pulled it over his bruised body and headed toward the window, halfway across the room he heard a woman sob. Curiously he walked toward the door instead of the window and glanced out in the corridor. At the end of it, next to a large window overlooking the ski resort, stood a lonely figure, slightly hunched forward, her body shivering.

"Isabelle?" he asked softly as he made it out of his room and out in the corridor, quickly closing the small distance to the woman.

Isabelle Delé straightened at the sound of his voice and hesitated before turning around to face him. A single tear escaped her eye as he came to stand opposite her. She nestled her arms around him and clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder before giving in to her sobs once again.

Paul tightened his grip around her. "Isabelle," he said softly to the seemingly inconsolable woman. "Isabelle," he repeated, this time his voice was no more than a whisper.

Slowly she tilted her head upwards to look at him. "We could have died, Paul," she whispered. "I dreamt you died, I couldn't sleep. I've been staring at the wreck- " she trailed off as he placed a finger on her soft lips.

"It's all right," he said reassuringly as he held her tight.

"I didn't want to wake you. They told me you were sick. I was worried-" she whispered as she took a moment to study his pale face. "Your skin is clammy. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Isabelle, please stop," he begged softly. "You're trembling. Come and sit down with me."

Paul gently led her to the nearby armchair, sat down and beckoned for her to sit in his lap.

Too devastated and weary to argue Isabelle did as he suggested and then leaned into him to let his touch calm her down. "I never answered before. I never said I love you," she said regretfully. "I do love you. I just- when you left and everything. Then you came back." She tilted her head to look him in the eye. "I think I've always loved you, ever since I first saw you."

OOOOOO

Heidi rubbed her tired eyes as she wearily made her way up the staircase to the top floor. It had been a long and tiring day. Not even in her wildest dreams had she imagined that a supersonic airliner would crash outside their house. She shivered as she thought about it. She had, like the rest of the staff of the practice, been forewarned and been able to prepare for it, unlike the tourists outside who only knew that they were no longer allowed to ski but not why.

She had been standing at the reception in the pharmacy section at the ground floor when she'd heard their junior doctor shout excitedly from the outside. Franz appeared in the doorway the second later and together they had walked out to stand beside their colleagues just in time to see the sleek supersonic jet make a long, slow turn for the makeshift runway marked by the rescue workers.

The aircraft was shaking violently, there were holes underneath the cabin and the sound of her engines echoed off the mountains, forcing Heidi to cover her ears. The jetliner then hit the ground, creating an eerie silence that was broken only by the scraping of metal against the ground, and descended rapidly down the slope, plowing through the snow.

Heidi remembered the sick feeling to her stomach, afraid that she was watching the death of over hundred people, yet she had been standing transfixed, unable to move. "My goodness, Franz, what if they don't make it," she had whispered in horror.

Heidi stopped to gather herself at the second floor and frowned as she saw two people at the end of the corridor, sitting in an armchair by the window. Intrigued and a little worried she tiptoed toward them in the semi-darkness. As she neared she could make out the young flight attendant that she'd taken care of earlier and the French captain. The woman was sitting in the man's lap, leaning into his chest, her fingers curled around the fabric of his gown. She was sleeping worriedly and Heidi could see that she'd been crying. The captain had his arms around the woman whose name she remembered to be Isabelle.

Heidi jumped slightly as the man tilted his head slightly to look at her. It was dull and tired blue eyes that locked with hers but, somehow, they seemed at peace and it was strangely comforting. She wore a smile but said nothing as she neared them, afraid to wake the sleeping woman. She reached out to gently touch the captain's forehead and pursed her lips into a thin line of displeasure at the clammy skin beneath her fingertips.

"You are cold," she mouthed.

He looked almost amused as he nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. "I will be fine," he mouthed back.

Heidi was about to tell him to go back to bed when the flight attendant spoke up, seemingly unaware of the nurse's presence.

"Paul," she whispered with an anxious undertone.

"I'm right here, Isabelle," he said softly. "Go back to sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Heidi was torn, the captain needed to keep warm and go back to sleep but the woman in his arms needed him too. With a warm and genuine smile she retreated and left them alone, deciding that the flight attendant's needs outweighed anything else at the moment. However, she would see to it that he rested and kept warm in the morning.

OOOOOO

Maggie Whelan's head was spinning as the Federation World Airlines' Boeing 757 touched down at Dulles International Airport in Washington in the late afternoon, local time. The secret documents in her portfolio delivered to her by the former employee at Harrison Industries had shown a side of Kevin Harrison that she didn't like, that she couldn't even begin to imagine. A shady side, a ruthlessness that chilled her to the bone. She held in her hands information that people had died for, that perhaps even more people would die for. The information would ruin the company that Kevin had built up, damage his reputation and worse; if he was the real mastermind he would be brought to justice and sent to prison for his actions.

For the first time in her life she was afraid of Kevin Harrison, afraid of what he could do. In a daze she got out of her seat and headed for the exit of the aircraft, she forced a smile at the kind flight attendant as she went off and walked into the terminal.

"Maggie!" Lennie Daniels hollered and quickly closed the distance between them.

Maggie trained her eyes at her close colleague and suddenly felt immensely glad he was there.

He glanced around carefully and smiled at her, giving her a hug. "Let's get you out of here before any nosy reporter sees you're back in the country," he said.

She hesitated as he began to lead her away. "Lennie, do you know what happened?" she asked.

"You're damn lucky to be alive, Maggie, you've just been in a flight accident in the Alps," he said seriously. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"On our way to Paris, Joe said something about military traffic interrupting our flight path," she mused.

"Who's Joe?" Lennie questioned as he tugged at her arm.

"A friend of mine, one of the pilots on the Concorde," Maggie explained as she rubbed her aching forehead. "He didn't know what it was. Has there been any information forthcoming about it?"

"Maggie," Lennie began seriously. "Let's get you home."

"No, please just tell me," she demanded.

"It was an unfortunate incident. It took some time to find out but the attack drone that was launched from Harrison Industries deviated from its flightpath and mistook the supersonic airliner for its prey," he said.

The hair at the back of Maggie's head rose. "I have a feeling, Lennie, that it was no accident. It was no accident at all," she said hollowly.

"What are you talking about Maggie?" her worried coworker asked as they made it outside the large terminal.

"Where is Doctor Harrison now?" she asked in a neutral voice, half expecting him to come and greet her like nothing had happened.

"No one knows. Apparently he landed shortly after your accident here at Dulles but no one has seen him."

"Why do you want to know, Maggie? What are you on to?" Lennie asked, getting more and more worried about his friend and colleagues well-being.

OOOOOO

Joe Patroni felt lethargic as he slowly got out of bed and reached for a robe that had been given to him the day before. He grimaced at the soreness in his shoulders and neck as he gingerly got into the garment. He still couldn't believe the events of the day before. With resolute steps he padded over to the bathroom on the other side of the corridor and two rooms to his left. He felt filthy and a little off the rocker. It would do him good with a warm shower, a shave and a large breakfast. He put on the water tap, shrugged out of the robe and walked into the shower. It felt good to let the moist air engulf him, to feel the warmth of the water prickle his skin. It really was too hot, coloring his skin red but he didn't care as long as he wasn't cold. He stood for ages in the shower until the whole bathroom was moist and the whole room was filled with vapor to the extent that he couldn't see himself in the mirror. With a satisfied smile he grabbed a towel and dried his body and hair before he walked over to the mirror and gently swabbed it clear with his hand. The face that stared back at him looked haunted with shades under the eyes and a stubble that covered the chin and cheeks. He noticed a faint scratch mark on his throat and briefly wondered when he'd gotten that.

The seasoned captain sighed and shook his head as he reached for one of the one-time shavers that had been placed in the bathroom for them to use and noticed that he was the first to shave. His thoughts went to Paul and Peter as he gently removed the stubble and studied his work, wondering how they were fairing. After all, he had been the one to try and calm the passengers. At that time Paul had been slumped over the yoke and Peter had been resting his head in his hands looking dazed. Then, when he'd gotten out of the aircraft both his colleagues had appeared to be in good mood and he'd let his worry for them diminish but he hadn't seen either of them since.

Joe was brought out of his musings by the rumble of his stomach and he suddenly chuckled. "I think it's time for breakfast," he said joyfully as he got into the robe and headed back to his room.

"There you are," the nurse said with a smile as she was waiting for him. "I was starting to get worried had you not gotten out of there soon."

"A shower has never felt so good," he said with finality.

Heidi Horst nodded. "I've brought back your clothes", she said. "I managed to persuade our neighbor that runs the laundry around here to have them dry and flat ironed till this morning."

"Thanks, that's much appreciated," Joe replied in amusement. "I was starting to get worried I'd have to go around in this robe the whole day."

The nurse laughed. "Nonsense, although I'm afraid that your clothing is not enough to wear around here and those low, black shoes might not be ideal either."

Joe shook his head. "Well, I'll have to talk with Paul about this. If he'd mentioned this was where he'd planned to land I would have brought my snowshoes," he joked.

Heidi sobered. "Please, it's too early to joke about it. I was terrified and I was already on the ground."

"I guess it's my way of deflecting things," Joe returned seriously. "Truth to be told I'm still having a hard time to come to terms with what happened."

The nurse nodded. "My husband will want to check you over one last time before you leave the premises but you appear well and in a good mood," she said.

"It was one hell of a ride," Joe let on. "But apart from some stiffness in my shoulders and neck and a few cuts and bruises, I am fine. I'm more concerned about my colleagues."

"Mr. O'Neill is talking to the Flight Investigator, going through the procedures and the accident. I'm afraid I couldn't stall him any longer," she said apologetically. "He arrived last night."

Joe nodded. "It's routine, I am afraid. I suppose the black box has been taken from the aircraft as well?"

Heidi shrugged.

"Well, we've got nothing to hide," Joe said and sighed. "The cargo door blew off for some reason. I still don't understand it. It's locked during flight. Paul got out in the cabin to confirm it and, I've got to tell you, I'm glad he managed to get back to the cockpit before the door completely fell off. He wouldn't have been a pretty sight to find otherwise. I doubt he would have been alive. The passengers got away with cuts and bruises because they were seated and strapped in," he said solemnly in a subdued voice.

"Captain Metrand is being checked out by my husband as we speak. He looks tired and I know he's got a few bumps and bruises but I have a feeling that won't stop him," the nurse answered with a twinkle in her eye.

"No, he's a bundle of energy, the little bugger," Joe said happily. "I haven't known him that long but, let's just say that enough time has passed to know what French curses sounds like."

They both chuckled at that.

"When you're ready Captain Patroni, breakfast is waiting for you upstairs," she said.

"My name is Joe, Nurse Horst," he replied.

She nodded. "And mine is Heidi."

OOOOOO


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four** – Clues

Henri Davis shook his head slightly as he walked down the sloping snow road from the medical practice and headed toward the scene of the accident. Mr. O'Neill had shed some much valuable light on the actions taken during the flight but a lot of questions still remained. He walked over to his people who'd been hard at work for several hours already, and found the freedom and peace of the early morning to be a sharp contrast to the evening's crazy chaos. Davies gave a low whistle as he glanced up the mountain and took in the dent made by the aircraft. The deep cut through the packed snow looked even more impressive in daylight. He sighed as he walked up to his closest colleague who stood hunched next to what was left of the tail fin.

"I see you've been hard at work," he remarked with a smirk.

Sarah Girth chuckled at his statement. "Yeah, and I'll tell you, it took some time to free this instable part of the aircraft from all the snow," she said and then nodded at the practice. "Have you been able to talk to them?"

"Only the flight engineer. Alton is a bit overprotective of the crew, like they are hiding something," he mused. "But I might have been a bit of a bully at another accident site a few months ago where he was present."

Sarah shook her head in exasperation. "Have I not told you not to step on someone's toes?" she asked, her voice light and sarcastic at the same time.

"He rubs me the wrong way," Davis offered with a sigh as he reached up with his hand to scratch his forehead.

"Don't let him get to you then," she reasoned. "Show him how good we are at our job instead. Not that he has any reason to doubt it."

Davis smiled appreciatively. "Always managing to cheer me up," he said. "You on the other hand look more troubled than usual."

"I'm both amazed and horrified when it comes to this accident," she admitted thoughtfully. "Look at the fractures in the body. The stresses to the hull must have been enormous. It's like the aircraft tore itself apart."

"Actually," Davis said solemnly as he crunched down beside her and glanced up at the scorn piece of metal before them. "I think it did."

OOOOOO

"You're up early," Doctor Horst remarked as he sauntered into the dining room.

Alton glanced up from the newspaper in hand and took a sip of the freshly brewed coffee. "An old habit I'm afraid," he admitted sheepishly and then added; "I always managed to get those early morning flights during my last active years."

The doctor nodded. "And when retirement came you couldn't let go?" he asked curiously as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Alton chuckled. "An old fox like me don't know what to do when being grounded for life," he said. "Sitting idle fiddling with some brief mark collection is nothing for a man that has travelled all the corners of the world."

"So you took up a different role?" the doctor said.

Alton rubbed his forehead and sighed in exasperation. "You could say that," he admitted enigmatically. "Investigating a flight accident is a very complex matter, involving a lot of people, a lot of experts on the field. My role in this whole mess is to represent the pilots during the investigation. It's my duty to see to it that their story is heard and the information is taken into the calculations. Captain Metrand and Captain Patroni are members of two different associations, one based in the United States and one based in France. I'm able to represent them both since I'm a member of the International Federation of Airline Pilots Association, IFALPA. I will also be involved in the interviews of the crew and passengers together with an FAA representative."

"Sounds as complexed, if not worse, than a medical board hearing," Horst deduced. "What would be Mr. Davis role in all of this?"

"Davis is a flight investigator correlator working for NTSB, he is in charge of tying together every different aspects of the accident and have the various experts report back their findings and conclusions," Alton explained.

"Then why the rush to personally interview the flight crew?" Horst asked curiously. "Shouldn't they be carried out by someone else?"

"Line Sanders, another member of the safety board is probably on her way here to do so but Davis is certified to carry out such interviews should he find that it would help the investigation," Alton informed.

"Every situation, every accident, is unique which gives the lead flight investigator a choice as to which groups to call upon in order to carry out a thorough investigation. For example I don't see the need to call upon the engine manufacturer in this case, nor do I see any reason to dig through any past medical records of the flight crew. However, structural engineers, maintenance experts and representatives from the manufacturer would most likely be involved. The teams will piece together the scenario and replay it in order to see what could have been done to minimize the damage. In this case there were no fatalities and they have plenty of people to interview so it should be a simpler investigation in this case," Alton finished.

"I take it that it's like when someone is involved in a car accident that you do a background check?" Horst stated.

"In this case I know that Captain Metrand and Captain Patroni have no marks on their respective records. I've done my background check already on my way here," Alton let on. "What is interesting is how the manufacturer will deal with the situation."

"I'm afraid that I don't follow you," Horst replied with a frown.

"The manufacturer of the aircraft will send representatives and usually there is a test pilot involved who can point out how to handle the aircraft in various situations and so on. Captain Metrand has been employed at the manufacturer for several years as a test pilot for this type of aircraft. He knows better than anyone what the aircraft is capable of," Alton explained with a smile. "He has been flying for twenty years and served in the military during the Indochina wars. He's a certified fighter jet pilot, has the required flight time in simulator to fly regular commercial airliners and is fully certified to fly the Concorde."

"In other words, Captain Metrand is one hell of a pilot," the doctor said with a smirk.

"Captain Patroni is no newbie either," Alton said and returned the smirk. "He's been flying for thirty years, although his service record in the military varies from piloting aircrafts at the front line to be an advisor on the ground. He has a bachelor in civil aeronautics/engineering and is a certified mechanic. He even practiced as one for several years before taking up flying again. He worked as a regular commercial airline pilot for over fifteen years before taking up a position as vice president of an American Airline company."

"Why would one leave such a commitment?" Horst mused.

A faint smile crept over Alton's lips. "I think that the expression 'Once a pilot, always a pilot' would fit exemplary here," he answered. "Captain Patroni's wife died tragically and there was some turbulence in the particular company at the time. I believe he simply had enough of being on the ground. He took time to go to France and retrain to become a Concorde pilot."

"Seems like a good combination," the doctor said. "The good news is that they appear fairly well considering the circumstances. In fact I find it amazing that they are in such a good shape after what they've been through. Cuts and bruises mostly, sore muscles and joints. It's a wonder the human body can withstand the forces brought upon them without breaking."

Alton nodded thoughtfully.

"Anyway I've just been to see Captain Metrand and he said he should be here in a moment. I'll go in search for them," Horst offered. "They must be hungry by now."

OOOOOO

Flight attendant Joanna Jones threw a shaky breath as she sat down in an armchair in what appeared to be a waiting room on the top floor of the building. It didn't take long before her coworker Isabelle Delé appeared at her side. The woman, in charge of the cabin crew, looked drawn and tired as she sat down in the armchair next to Joanna.

"Isabelle, are you all right?" Joanna asked carefully.

She nodded. "It's been a rough night, that's all," she explained softly, her eyes glued to the television, sitting in the corner of the room.

" _And now we can reveal to you more information about the flight accident in the Alps last night_ ," the news reporter said. _"This film was made by an amateur during the crash."_

Isabelle and Joanna shared a look as the image of the Concorde began to roll on the television. It showed the aircraft as it was slowly descending, fighting what appeared to be a rather hefty crosswind before it made contact with the ground and began its mad dash down the sloped mountain. The picture was of poor quality and the man that was filming couldn't keep his hand from shaking but the scene gave Isabelle the creeps anyway and by the look on Joanna's face it got to her too.

"Good morning," a familiar voice greeted from behind them, causing the flight attendants to jump.

Paul couldn't help but smile at the reaction but soon sobered as he walked up behind them to watch the news.

" _We can confirm that no casualties has been reported from the crash site and that most of the passengers has been transported either to the intended destination in Russia or back to Innsbruck International and from there back to Paris or Washington,"_ the news reporter continued.

Peter, Joe and Doctor Horst, having come from different directions, appeared in the doorway to listen as well.

" _What caused the accident is still unknown. Despite being on site the press has had little luck while interviewing the passengers on the ill-fated flight. We had hoped to spot the flight crew and be able to shed some light on what happened. However, we do know that Captain Metrand was out in the cabin to inspect something before hastily retreating back to the cockpit. Seconds later the aircraft went into a freefall while the cabin pressure disappeared. Segments of the aircraft broke apart. One of the passengers claimed the floor disappeared beneath the guy sitting next to him."_

Isabelle unconsciously gripped Paul's wrist, frightened by the retelling. In the chaos she hadn't really had time to reflect upon what she'd been through.

" _Luckily, due to a competent flight crew the supersonic Concorde managed to land safely at an Alpine resort in Switzerland. Now, it remains to be seen if it was sabotage or manufacturing errors that led to the accident,"_ the reporter continued seriously. _"Rumors are circulating that the Federation World Airlines Chief Engineer was found dead at the Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, his pockets full of money. Furthermore one wonders why the same aircraft was almost shot down the day before by a malfunctioning attack drone."_

Doctor Horst pursed his lips into a thin line of displeasure at the news and he saw the shock etched on some of the young faces before him. In annoyance he reached for the TV remote.

" _A lot of questions about the accident remains-"_

The TV was effectively shut down and the doctor found himself being glared at by at least four people in the room.

"You'll gain nothing from watching that crap," Horst explained in his defense. "Come on now, why don't we all go through here and have some breakfast."

"A good idea," Paul concurred in a soft, French accented English as he gently hauled Isabelle out of the armchair.

OOOOOO


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five** – Truth or Dare

" _A lot of questions about the accident remains-"_

Chairman John Field, Kevin Harrison's right hand man, sighed in annoyance and frustration as he turned off the TV in Conference room situated on the top floor of the Harrison Industries HQ. He glanced around the room, taking in the serious faces of the gathered men around the table.

Joshua Anderson, in charge of special operations, a man with icy blue eyes, leaned forward in his seat and glared at Field. "If our hit man had taken out that nosy reporter in the first place none of this would have happened," he said gruffly.

Raymond Riggs, sales director, another well-clad man in an expensive business suit, nodded in agreement. "I believe it was _your_ hit man who failed, Joshua," he said sarcastically before turning toward Field. "I fail to see why he took the attack drone off course at such a critical moment. Now, the whole world thinks we've failed and we'll have problems with sales in the near future."

"The decision was perhaps a bit rash but Doctor Harrison believed it to be the best course of action to stop Maggie Whelan from spreading rumors about our illegal business and weapon dealings," John Field explained as he eyed the sales director sternly. "Had it worked we would have eliminated all our problems and been able to continue with our operations."

"Yes, _if_ it had worked," The company's spokesman Mark Jones concurred. "The attack drone was supposed to have finished off that aircraft quickly, what kept it?"

Although the question was aimed directly at the Chairman it was the little man with large glasses at the near end of the table who answered. "The Concorde is a supersonic airliner that can maneuver almost as well as a smaller military jet. And, obviously, there was a very experienced and seasoned flight crew onboard," he said with a sigh.

"That's not the original problem," Jones said sourly as he turned his gaze directly toward Joshua. "I don't understand how Carl Parker managed to get to Maggie Whelan in the first place?"

"What is done is done," Field replied regrettably, trying to deflate the tension that was building in the room. "It's for us to pick up the pieces and deny our involvement in any of this."

"And just how do you propose we do that?" Jones exploded. "Our CEO tried to blow a freaking airliner out of the sky, not once but twice!"

"There will be consequences, unforeseen consequences," the smaller man with the glasses, one of Harrison Industries most renowned engineers, said gloomily.

"Calm down would you? The pilot of the French fighter plane plunged to his death, the salvage of the wreck will get the investigators nowhere. Also, the dead chief engineer of the FWA can't speak. His colleagues can't tell what he did to the aircraft and the Concorde itself is buried in the snow at the mountainside of the Alps," he reasoned. "It broke apart, it even exploded. All they know is that there were structural damages to the body of the aircraft."

"The pilots, they probably know what happened. Didn't you hear what the passenger said? The captain went out to check something," Jones insisted.

"So what do you suggest? That we eliminate them as well?" Field returned testily.

"Let's be rational here," the engineer reasoned. "Your job as spokesman for the company, Jones, is to see to it that there will be no suspicions cast upon us."

He nodded, having calmed down a bit. "I've already prepared a press release about Doctor Harrison's unfortunate accident during the charity campaign in Austria."

Anderson snorted. "He shot himself point blank, how do you explain that away?" he asked curiously with a sarcastic tinge to his voice.

"Why don't you handle Captain Moyer and leave the so called accident to me?" Jones challenged.

"And what about his wife and daughters?" Anderson pushed with a sneer. "What amazing story would you fabricate for them? I'm not sure they'll buy the cover story."

"Gentlemen," Field cautioned from where he stood at the end of the table.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

"Now, our immediate concern are the documents that Maggie Whelan is now carrying with her. We do know, since she reported from the accident site that she still have them and that she will without any doubts expose our secrets unless we do something about it," Field reasoned coldly. "However, this is a delicate matter. She's rather famous while Carl Parker was not. The news of her demise will not be a footnote in the newspaper as his was."

"Do we know where she is?" Riggs asked.

Anderson nodded. "She's back in Washington, she arrived late having flown with the FWA from Innsbruck. She was met by a lanky man with brown hair at Dulles, they had an argument of some kind before leaving the airport in a cab," he reported.

"Is she back in her apartment?" Riggs pushed.

"No," Anderson replied calmly.

"You've lost track of her?" the sales director stated in annoyance as he threw the pen he'd been twiddling between his fingers on the table.

"She's currently residing in suite 202 at the Park Tower Hotel," the special operations manager answered with a wry smile. "An unfortunate accident will soon claim her life."

OOOOOO

After a quick breakfast in the bed and breakfast section of the medical practice Paul and Joe followed Jeffrey Alton, the union representative, to a secluded room on the second floor. There they met up with a newly arrived woman, named Line Sanders, who'd be the leading interviewer and in charge of gathering information about the crash from the crew, the passengers and eyewitnesses on site.

"Gentlemen," she said curtly albeit with a smile as she nodded at the trio already seated at the table for four. She sat down next to Jeffrey and acknowledged his presence.

It soon turned very clear that they'd worked together before and had respect for each other.

"Line Sanders," Jeffrey said by way of greeting and then turned to Paul and Joe. "This is Captain Paul Metrand and Captain Joseph Patroni."

"Good morning," she said. "First of all I want you to know that I'm not here to lay blame on anyone. I work for the safety board department and I'm here as an objective investigator in search of the truth."

The pilots nodded in understanding.

"Normally I'll conduct separate interviews but I see no reason too in this case. The interview will be recorded so that we, the people in the group that I represent, can go back and hear your answers again," she explained as she placed a tape recorder at the table.

Joe shrugged. "Fine by me," he said.

"Also, normally the aircraft would have a flight crew consisting of one captain, a first officer and a flight engineer," she said, looking from Joe to Paul and back again.

"As you're aware, Ms. Sanders," Joe began as he leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together in front of him. "The Federation World Airlines was making a goodwill flight to Moscow. The airline had just taken over the aircraft from the factory in France, it would have been the second leg in the first supersonic trip ever made from Washington to Paris to Moscow for an American airline," he explained.

Line nodded but her question was forestalled as Paul began to speak.

"The FWA was to lease the aircraft from the manufacturer and as part of the agreement it was required that they had a certified pilot for the special type of aircraft that the Concorde was," he explained. "I was near the end of a two year contract as a test pilot for the supersonic airplane and agreed to start flying commercially again for the FWA."

"I came directly from training and was newly certified for the type of aircraft," Joe filled in. "It was decided that Paul and I was to fly together on the goodwill flight and that I would lean on his expertise."

"Thereof the reason for two captains," Line deduced and then continued, conducting much needed information. "I'm under the impression that the first leg of the trip, between Washington and Paris, didn't go as planned."

"I do not see why that would be relevant for this investigation," Alton protested. "The aircraft was landed safely at Le Bourget, transferred for repairs to Charles de Gaulle and declared flightworthy by FWA maintenance the day after."

Line spared him an annoyed glance and then nodded in what looked like resignation. "I suppose you are right, Mr. Alton," she said and then refocused her attention on the two pilots sitting opposite her. "I would like to hear, in your own words, what happened in mid-air that led to the emergency landing here at the Alpine resort."

"There is nothing we can tell you that you will not be able to piece together by listening to the CVR," Paul said calmly but she could also hear the chilliness behind his polite statement.

"My apologies, Captain Metrand, but I still need a summary of the events that led to the decision of landing at the resort filled with skiing people."

"I suppose it would be fairer to say that the decision was made for us," Joe jumped in.

Line raised an impeccable eyebrow.

Paul narrowed his eyes at her as if trying to deduce her character as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

The tension in the room was palpable for a moment before Paul locked eyes with her and said; "We were cruising at a height of twenty thousand feet and had been flying so for the last twenty minutes when we suddenly heard a bang. We did an instrumental check, turned on the seatbelt sign and shrugged."

"After a few minutes we got a strange vibration on the yokes," Joe added seriously. "We decided to run a complete systems check but it was interrupted by a call from the cabin crew about a whistling and a banging noise coming from the midsection of the aircraft."

"Captain Metrand, I understand that you were in charge of the flight and therefore had the responsibility of-" she was cut off.

"Yes, I went back in the cabin to check for anything out of the ordinary although I had a fairly good idea about the scenario," he answered quickly. "When I'd passed the forward section of the passenger cabin I could easily see that something was wrong. The carpet was torn in places, shifting with the metal beneath it. In order to cause such behavior the structural integrity of the aircraft would have to be compromised."

"You're saying that the aircraft was coming apart in mid-air," she said solemnly, understanding the grave situation.

"Yes, when we ran the check on the cargo doors we couldn't get a reading on the one situated over the place where the carpet was being ripped apart," Joe filled in and glanced at his copilot. "I'm just glad that Paul managed to get back and take his seat in time before the whole thing blew off."

"The pressure put on the aircraft at that altitude caused the door to fall off, leaving a hole in the cabin. When structural integrity failed we lost pressure in the cabin and the Concorde was thrown into a downward spin. Primary systems failed, secondary systems appeared unresponsive for several seconds. We managed to retake control of the dive, correct the altitude and speed but not before we'd fallen ten thousand feet," Paul explained. "Something caused the fuel pumps to begin dumping fuel and with the drag caused by the structural damage to the underside of the cabin we had not enough left to make it to Innsbruck International Airport, which was said to be the closest airport for us to land."

"Then Paul remembered he used to ski at an Alpine resort in our vicinity," Joe said with a cunning smile. "We contacted flight control and asked them to alert the Swiss that we were coming and that we were going to attempt a landing on the mountainside. Then I'm sure you know the rest."

Line nodded. "So you consider your actions in response to the damage caused to aircraft to be correct," she stated.

"As of why the cargo door blew off mid-air I have no idea. It was out of my hands so to speak," Paul added.

"Are you suggesting it was caused by a malfunction?" she asked curiously.

"That is for you and your colleagues to find out, is it not?" Paul deadpanned. "However, when I flew the Concorde as a test pilot I never experienced anything like it."

"My apologies if you feel criticized by my interview, Captain Metrand," the woman said. "That was not my intention. I am merely trying to gather all the facts required to piece everything together."

"Look, Ms. Sanders, we do appreciate that but you have to realize that we don't like what you're insinuating. It might not be intentionally but we all know that someone will have to take the blame for this and as pilots we're an easy target- you know, human error and that sort of thing. However, in this case we did everything that regulations require, and more. We managed to put that bird on the ground without any fatalities and let me tell you; the odds weren't in our favor," Joe said seriously.

OOOOOO


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six** – The Stranger

"Maggie, please," Lennie pleaded. "You're maniacal, look at you. You can't keep up like this."

She shook her head stubbornly and continued to look at the documents before her. "No, look at this. Harrison Industries has been selling weapons illegally to various countries, to groups that wouldn't hesitate to kill innocents," she angrily. "How could I have been so stupid to trust that man, to take his words for the truth?"

There was a knock on the door and without another word Lennie went over to open it. He let out a sigh of relief when the man on the other side appeared to be the science reporter Jeffrey Marks.

"Good, Jeff, help me talk some sense into her," Lennie said.

Confused he walked across the room to stand next to Maggie. His confusion was soon replaced by worry at the sight of her and the bandage around her head. "Should you be up?" he asked kindly.

"Jeff, look at this," she said in a straight forward manner, ignoring his question. "I need your help."

Her newly arrived colleague raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the table to study the documents. "Maggie," he said seriously. "Where did you get these?"

"How could I be so stupid?" she scolded herself.

"You're making no sense, take it from the beginning Maggie," Jeffrey asked.

"I met him at the Hive café while doing an interview about upcoming projects," she whispered as she fixed her eyes on his signature present on the closest document. "I- he was charming, such a gentleman. I didn't mean for it to happen," she trailed off as she straightened to look at her colleagues who eyed her in concern. "He's got a wife and three children for heaven's sake and I wanted no commitments."

"Maggie," Lennie began in a soft voice.

"I had an affair with Doctor Kevin Harrison," she blurted out. "I fell in love with him. Everything felt so good. Then just before I was to pack for the goodwill trip to Moscow one of Harrison's employees turned up at my door. He said he had secret documents and that he needed my help. I dismissed him at first because I didn't understand and I didn't want to believe that Harrison Industries were involved in something illegal."

"Why don't you sit down, Maggie," Jeffrey said as he gently steered her to a nearby chair and handed her a handkerchief.

She gave him a faint smile and almost fell down in the armchair. "Thanks," she said. "Anyway, Carl Parker didn't get to finish his statement. Another man appeared in my apartment and he shot Parker in cold blood before my eyes. I was so afraid, I fled for my life but the man came after me-"

"My goodness Maggie, why didn't you call the police?" Lennie exclaimed.

"I tried but there was no connection. A passerby hit the fire alarm and the man disappeared, probably afraid of the attention," she reasoned. "When I came down and headed into my apartment Carl Parker was gone, there was no sign of him and for a moment I wondered if I'd dreamt what happened."

Her colleagues waited patiently for her to continue, seeing she was upset they didn't want to push her.

"The day after I confronted Doctor Harrison about it and he claimed to be upset to hear that Parker had been to my place. He claimed Parker had been having money problems and had debts that he couldn't pay off. That was why he'd turned on Kevin- Doctor Harrison, and tried to blackmail him. And, since I was a media profile he probably figured that by going to me and make his accusations public Doctor Harrison would be forced to pay in order to prevent it. He reasoned that the loan shark must have caught up with Parker at my doorstep. He apologized to me for Parker's actions and claimed he was sorry I got in the middle of it. He also said it was ridiculous of me to believe in Parker and tried to assure me that he was a rich guy that had everything he wanted so there was no need to do illegal business and damage his reputation."

"Actually, that makes sense," Lennie pointed out.

Maggie nodded solemnly. "I believed him and bid him goodbye. I was just about to board my flight when a woman in a wheelchair came up to me and handed me all these," she said and nodded at the documents.

"If what you've just told us is true this could mean the end of Harrison Industries," Lennie said in a cautious voice to Jeffrey and then added darkly to the newly arrived colleague; "Maggie thinks that Doctor Harrison sent his Buzzard after the Concorde."

"Harrison Industries is a respected company, Maggie. Such accusations are dangerous. It's not something you just throw around," Jeffrey cautioned.

"I know it's crazy but the more I think about it the more it makes sense," she said in a subdued voice. "I was onboard having the only copy of the documents. Although I don't think the drone had been tested on a prey that wanted to stay flying. I don't think he counted on the experienced flight crew onboard the Concorde or took into consideration that the aircraft was a supersonic carrier."

"I don't know about this, Maggie. I'd say we better call the police," Jeffrey cautioned seriously.

"Kevin thinks I'm to blow the whistle on him when I arrive at Moscow. He doesn't know I'm back in Washington. I think I'm safe for the moment," she reasoned.

OOOOOO

Henri Davis shivered from the chilly breeze in the early morning as he stood gazing out over the accident site. People from various fields of expertise approached from every direction, most of them directly from the breakfast table. He fixed a young engineer with his eyes and headed over. He flexed his fingers inside the gloves in order to try and get some circulation back and cursed at the coldness.

"Good morning Mr. Davis," the younger man greeted with a smile.

"How-" he began with a frown.

"I saw you in my periphery vision," he explained light heartedly and then added jovially; "You don't seem to appreciate the cold, sir."

"I was born and raised in California," Davis said sourly. "I'll never get used to the cold."

John Macy couldn't help but to chuckle as he refocused at his work. He came from Aspen, Colorado and couldn't imagine a life without snow.

"How's it coming?" Davis inquired curiously.

Macy nodded. "See that?" he asked as he pointed inside the wreck with his flashlight. "We've found the holy grail."

Davis stared at the cube shaped object painted in the bright color that was commonly called international orange. "Finally we might be able to piece two and two together," he muttered.

"I think I can free it and hand it to you within the hour," the engineer said with a satisfied grin.

The flight investigator gave him a pat on the back and broke into a toothy smile. "Well done, Macy. You do that and I'll have a chopper ready to take off. We'll load it and get back to our department in Geneva. I would like to get a fresh team of experts to take it apart sooner rather than later."

"You know I've heard people talk," the engineer said thoughtfully. "A fellow back at the Hotel bar showed me a shaky recording from the accident last night, he was very proud he'd managed to catch it on camera."

Davis huffed.

"I'm telling you, it's amazing that thing even held together," he finished.

OOOOOO

Eli Sande angrily stomped into the tarmac at the Airport in Moscow. They had arrived a few hours earlier with MLI Airtime and as if the humiliation of being forced to hitch a ride with another airline and then to try and comfort his wife while the press seemed to follow every step he took he now had to deal with some manager. He quickly found the office where MLI was cooped up and walked in.

"Mr. Sande," a balding middle aged man greeted with a large grin. "I'm pleased to see that the trip went well."

"Now that I was travelling with your company?" Eli returned with a wry smirk.

"Mr. Sande," the man said as he quickly turned serious. "I deeply regret what happened. It was all but a terrible accident but if anything you should be proud that no one was killed. That your company have such skilled pilots. My chief pilot shook his head when he saw the pictures, muttering something in Spanish under his breath."

Eli couldn't help but to smile at the statement. "Well, mister-"

"My mistake, how unfortunate and untactful of me. Allow me to introduce myself properly," he said as he reached out with his hand. "I'm Yuri Breznin, chief of operations in Russia here at MLI Airtime."

"Eli Sande, President of the Federation World Airlines, not that it wasn't any news to you," he said. "Thank you for offering to help."

"There was no trouble, our flight from Innsbruck to Moscow isn't that popular anyway, we had the seats, you brought us the passengers and perhaps some good publicity," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Of course we don't fly supersonic, we only have a fleet of Boeing 737 and 757. Although a Tupolev would have been nice."

Eli nodded. "You realize of course that the FWA doesn't have any flights to Russia at the time being. We're only scanning the market."

"Business is complicated," Breznin admitted enigmatically. "Anyway, should you decide to traffic Russia I hope that we can be of use for one another. We are interested in a direct route to France. Perhaps we could benefit from each other?"

"Maybe," Eli let on dryly. "I'll keep it in mind, especially after your actions here. Now, if you'll excuse me I'll go and find my wife, have something strong to drink and try to forget the whole thing."

OOOOOO

Line Sanders sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. So far she had interviewed the two captains, a representative from the cabin crew and two passengers. There didn't seem to be any inconsistences between the statements given to her. They varied in experience and they were given from different angles but in the end they led to the same conclusion – the aircraft's structural integrity had failed mid-air and caused the cabin to depressurize. The drag created by the holes in the cabin and the new path taken by the wind through the aircraft destabilized the airflow around the airliner to such extent that it was forced into an uncontrolled dive. The pilots had then managed to level out the aircraft at ten-thousand feet but the irreparable damages done to the airliner made it impossible to fly even a relatively short distance. Innsbruck International Airport was quickly discarded and an emergency landing was to be carried out at the Alpine ski resort she was now overlooking.

She had to admit that it amazed her that the outcome of the accident hadn't been a tragedy with 109 dead people. Her respect for the pilots grew for every clue she uncovered. What troubled her though was what could have caused the structural collapse on a newly delivered aircraft. Was it possible that the software placed in the code lock had disengaged on its own or was it never properly locked at the airport? Line shook her head as she remembered Henri's retelling about his meeting with the flight engineer. He had been told that the hatch was locked and closed before take-off. She couldn't put her finger on it but there was something that didn't add up. With a resigned sigh she headed out toward her rental car. It was time to drive to the airport and then take a flight to Geneva.

OOOOOO


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven** – Upcoming Trouble

"Okay, that's enough for now Maggie, we've been at it the entire night," Lennie admonished as he studied her tired face. "Let's take a break and continue later."

Jeff nodded. "I concur. I happen to know that they are serving some pretty good breakfast downstairs in the restaurant. Why don't we go and grab a bite?"

Maggie chuckled slightly as she put down one of the folders she'd been studying closely for the last fifteen minutes. "What would I do without you two?" she asked jovially.

"Come on," Jeffrey said as he ushered her out through the door. "You'll feel a lot better when you've eaten."

The trio walked down the corridor toward the elevator, oblivious to the man that appeared behind them.

Clad in a waiters uniform the man waited until they were out of sight before strolling toward the now empty room. He fished up the necessary tool and then quickly picked the lock to the reporter's room. He casually glanced in both directions of the corridor before he walked in and closed the door behind him.

OOOOOO

The President of the Federation World Airlines, Eli Sande was sick and tired of people, especially reporters, as he entered the foyer at the luxury hotel that he'd booked for this special trip to Russia. Amy looked both bored and anxious at the same time as she walked close to him, her hand in his. Eli couldn't help glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to walk up to him and demand an interview at any second.

"Good evening, sir, ma'am," the well-clad woman, behind the counter at the reception, said as they walked up to her. "Do you have a booked reservation for tonight?"

"Yes," he said sternly. "In the name of Mr. and Mrs. Sande."

"One moment, please," the clerk said as she shuffled through some papers. "Here we are."

Amy looked at her hopefully as the woman produced a key for them.

"Welcome to Star of Moscow," she said with a smile and if she recognized their faces or names from the news she didn't comment on it. "Your room is situated on the eight floor, section three. The easiest way to get there would be to take the elevator and then, when you've arrived at the designated floor, take to your right and follow the markings to section three. The room number is 811."

"Thank you," Amy said with a faint smile as she took the key and started to head for the elevator.

"You go ahead, Amy," Eli said as he reached for his wallet to pay for the room.

"Mr. Sande. It seems you're an important man. There has been several calls for you," the receptionist said politely.

"I'm not interested in talking to reporters," he said cryptically.

"One of the callers insisted that you'd call as soon as we'd passed on his message," she said. "He said his name was Joshua Dalton and that you'd know what to do."

Eli sighed in frustration and then nodded at her. "Would I be able to dial long distance from our room?"

"Of course, sir," she said as he handed him the receipt.

He nodded his thanks and headed for the elevator, his mood somber. A few minutes later he knocked on the door and waited for Amy to let him in.

The door opened, revealing her wrapped in a gown, and he could hear the steaming water pour into the bathtub in the adjacent bathroom.

"Anything wrong?" she asked softly as she took in his dour appearance.

He forced a smile on his lips as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him, locking it. "No, everything is fine. Why don't you slip into the tub while I pour myself a drink?"

She nodded and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading for the bathroom.

He stared after her for a moment and then slowly walked across the room to pick up the phone. The connection was established within seconds and the man half across the globe picked up on the second ring.

"It's me," Eli said, not bothering with any formal greeting.

" _Finally,"_ the Vice President of FWA said with relief. _"Phone lines have been bustling all day long- well since our newly bought supersonic aircraft crashed anyway. We have to make an official statement. Everyone wonders what the hell happened."_

"It broke apart," Eli answered, his voice harsh.

" _I've contacted the insurance company as regulations require during the circumstances and they would love to throw this right back at us and call it a pilot error,"_ Dalton said.

"I told you, the aircraft broke apart. Had it not been for our boys up front we'd all be dead," Eli countered. "If we're to take any action it is to enlighten the factory that we've been given a faulty airliner."

" _They won't be happy to hear that and their lawyers-"_

"Look, I've just walked away from a flight accident. I was onboard the plane for heaven's sake!" Eli said and fought to level his voice. "You bring the lawyers to me if they give you any trouble."

" _Yes, sir. I'll get on to it right away,"_ Dalton said dejectedly. _"I'll let you know the outcome."_

"Thank you, Josh," Eli replied, his voice softening.

There was a click and the call was terminated.

Eli sank back in the armchair and stared out over the busy streets of Moscow, his eyes unseeing and his mind miles away.

OOOOOO

Maggie Whelan sat down heavily on the wooden chair and placed a tray of various dishes from the breakfast line in front of her on the large round table. Her colleagues joined her a minute later, their own trays filled to the brink.

"I'd forgotten how hungry I really was but this delicious blend of cinnamon, pancakes, eggs and bacon kindly reminded me," Lennie said happily as he sat down to Maggie's left.

She chuckled and shook her head at him as Jeffrey smirked broadly with a cocked eyebrow at Lennie and then nodded toward Maggie. "And I thought I was hungry," he remarked.

There was a moment of silence at the table as everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts and musings about the accident. The only thing that could be heard was the chatter of people in the crowded restaurant.

"So-," Maggie began but was quickly interrupted by Lennie.

"Can't you relax for two minutes," he complained lightly. "I'm trying to savior my breakfast."

She turned to him with a faint, ghostly smile on her lips. "Someone tried to kill me last night, Lennie. Actually, someone tried to kill all of us on that flight. I'm sure of it now and I want to know why," she said seriously, her voice hollow and dark.

"You said it yourself sometime around midnight. First Carl Parker tried to warn you about Harrison industries illegal business and was shot back at your place. Then man then tried to end your life as well. When you questioned Doctor Harrison about it he claimed Parker was blackmailing you and you believed him-" Jeffrey trailed off, looking intently on Maggie, his expression one of worry. "-at least for a short time," he finished.

Lennie nodded as he dug into his scrambled eggs. "The widow of Parker met you at the airport and handed you the documents that he'd managed to get his hands on at the company's head office. Then, according to your beliefs, Harrison tried to take care of the Concorde with his Buzzard drone and hoped it would have been seen upon as a tragic accident," he reasoned.

Maggie looked at them, one at a time, suspiciously and then took a sip of her double espresso. "After what we saw in these documents do you still believe that it's far-fetched?" she asked.

Jeffrey nodded thoughtfully, carefully weighing his words before speaking. "Let me put it this way. It is not us you need to convince but a court of justice and so far you have absolutely no evidence of your accusations. You're playing by a hunch and while your hunches are usually right they are dangerous to pursue," he cautioned.

"Why take down the whole aircraft, why not simply take care of you when the Concorde had landed in Paris?" Lennie asked curiously.

"Because he was desperate," she whispered. "He saw an opportunity and he took it. The Buzzard test was readied just as FWA flight 28 headed east from Dulles. Having the technology they could have easily overheard the pilots on the radio while in connection to the tower and gotten the course."

"By doing so he risked letting the world know that his Buzzard had failed the scheduled test and that the military might back out of the deal," Jeffrey reasoned with a frown. "It's a lot that's on stake."

"Like he told me back in Washington, he's already a wealthy man. He didn't need to complete the contract but he needed me out of the way and the documents destroyed. If I go public with this information the company will lose it credibility and Doctor Harrison will be persecuted," she said darkly.

Jeffrey shook his head as he divulged into the last sausage on his plate. "I don't know about this Maggie but I'll tell you one thing; if it is as you say then you're onto something big and deadly," he cautioned.

She sipped the last delicate drops of espresso from the plain white cup and made to stand, eager to see if she could find something more in all the files given to her.

Lennie noted the bundle that she held under her arm and made a face. "I see you took them with you," he remarked.

"I didn't want to leave them," she reasoned and waited for her colleagues to follow her back to the hotel room.

"The room is locked Maggie and you're the only one with the key. No one else knows you're in Washington except us and a handful back at the office," Jeffrey reasoned, suddenly worried that his colleague was starting to get paranoid.

OOOOOO

Joanna Jones stood gazing out over the snowy landscape, taking in the beautiful view. She let out a shaky breath and suddenly froze as a hand gently squeezed her shoulder. She turned sheepishly toward Claude Beaumont, her coworker, with a smile. He was clad in a parkas with a scarf wrapped high around his neck but still managed to look frozen. Joanna couldn't help but to chuckle at him.

"What?" he asked lightly as he returned the smile.

"Nothing, I just remembered how much you liked snow and how you used to talk about the French-Canadian winters," she said cheekily.

"It's nothing like this," he said, shifting his focus. "Besides, I don't usually walk out in the snow dressed for work."

She nodded and followed his gaze toward the wreck of the aircraft. The place seemed to be milling with people clad in fluorescent jackets, it was only the nuances and variation of the company logo at their backs that separated them from each other.

"What do they think they'll find?" Claude asked rhetorically.

Joanna shook her head somberly. "I don't know. I feel left out of the loop. It wasn't until an hour ago that I learned what really happened."

Claude's face darkened. "The cargo door blowing off?" he asked.

Joanna nodded, her hazel eyes darkened and filled with what seemed to be a light fury and desperation. "Why would it blow off?"

"I wish I knew Joanna," Claude let on dejectedly. "But somehow I don't think it was an accident. I can't explain why, it's a gut feeling I have and judging by the frenetic work these guys are putting into the effort of going over the wreckage I'm sure they don't consider it a coincidence either."

Joanna sighed deeply as she rubbed her aching forehead. "I just want to get out of here and forget the whole thing. Go back to someplace warm where the sun is shining and the beach is near. When are we to leave?" she asked.

"Before I came out here I had a word with the investigator and we are free to leave anytime we want. Apparently the rescue chopper is standing by and the pilot will gladly ferry us to Innsbruck anytime," Claude filled in and then eyed Joanna with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I don't know, I'm banged up and I feel on edge. I'm still having a hard time contemplating what happened," she admitted wearily. "I woke up in cold sweat last night."

"You're not the only one," he said in a subdued voice. "Come on, let' get back inside and warm up."

OOOOOO


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight** – A Glimpse of Yesterday

"Amy, I'm sorry I know I promised not to do any work on this trip, more than promotion of course, but I need to check in with our head office again."

His wife glanced up from the magazine she had been reading. "Eli, I'm sorry. I totally forgot. I meant to tell you when you came back earlier. Head office called and wanted to speak with you."

"Did they say what they wanted?" he asked curiously.

"I'm afraid not but it was Johnston from maintenance and he sounded strained," she said.

Eli nodded. Tim Johnston was the FWA officer in charge of maintenance of the aircraft fleet, currently stationed at their headquarters in Washington. He was an easygoing guy that didn't get upset very often.

"I better call right away," he said, a bad feeling coming over him as he lifted the phone. "Hello? I want a line to Washington."

Despite the distance it didn't take long for the call to connect and within the minute Johnston was at the other end of the line.

" _FWA maintenance service, how may I help?"_ A soft voice asked.

"Tim," Eli greeted warmly. "Excuse me for not getting back to you earlier."

" _Hello, Mr. Sande. That's okay. We have been quite busy here. I'll be on my way to Paris in one hour."_

Eli said nothing, he merely frowned and glanced at his wife, waiting for his maintenance manager to explain further.

" _I don't know how to say this, sir, but we have a problem at Charles de Gaulle. Did any of the pilots say anything about a man running over the runway at take-off?"_

"What?" Eli exclaimed in disbelief. "No. What was he doing there anyway and how did he get there? What happened to airport security?" he paused briefly then added, almost afraid of the answer; "Was he hurt?"

" _He died, sir,"_ Johnston returned frankly. _"However, his relatives will not be able to file any lawsuit at us so you can relax."_

"I fail to see how you can be so sure about that," Eli returned grumpily as he narrowed his eyes.

" _The man's life couldn't be saved because he was caught in the tailwind of the Concorde and there was no way it could have been avoided without risking the lives of every passenger and crew onboard the aircraft,"_ Johnston explained.

"Get to the point, Tim. I'm a little antsy from everything that's been going on lately," Eli said.

" _It was Froelich, our chief engineer at the maintenance section back at Charles de Gaulle,"_ Johnston replied in a subdued voice. _"Apparently he checked in a suitcase on a flight to Bahamas. He dropped some money while doing it and when airport security tried to return the money to him he flipped out and ran off. The point in all this, sir, is that the police found a considerable amount of money on him."_

Eli sighed, feeling weary all of a sudden. "Does the press know about this?" he asked carefully. "If they get the wind of it-"

" _They know there was an incident at the runway but they can't know for sure that he was connected to FWA. Unfortunately rumors at the airport has it that it was our chief engineer. Our French colleagues have done everything they can to deny the truth in the rumors. I haven't heard the latest news I'm afraid. However, to the reporters he should be just any man clad in an expensive suit that ran away from the guards and ended up on the strip,"_ Johnston filled in.

"You'll call me immediately when you've arrived at Charles de Gaulle," Eli demanded.

" _Certainly. I'll have a word with the rest of the maintenance crew there,"_ he assured him. _"Unfortunately it'll take a while. I'm sure you're aware of the flight time for a regular trip between Dulles and Charles de Gaulle with a FWA 747."_

There was a slight pause and the irony was not lost on Sanders.

"I don't care what time it is. Just call when you have something," Eli finally said in a subdued voice as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

" _Talk to you soon, sir,"_ Johnston said, ending the call.

Amy walked over to her husband and saw the troubled face. "Problems?" she asked softly.

He nodded thoughtfully, his hand still on the phone. "I have a feeling there is more to this whole fiasco than I thought," he said sourly.

OOOOOO

Willie Halpern sat stricken in his plushy leather chair at the Harrison Industries main office overlooking the large parking lot at the back of the building. Rain streaked the windows, washing the thin film of pollution off the glass. He was at loss for words and found himself lost, unsure of his next move. When his boss and longtime friend Doctor Kevin Harrison had asked him to change course of the drone he had not hesitated, in fact he had welcomed the challenge. His excitement had grown as the attack drone's camera had zooned in on the supersonic aircraft and, for a short period of time, he'd been annoyed at the evasive maneuvers made by the flight crew and been confident that the drone would prevail.

He had designed the attacking drone and considered it to be his baby. It wasn't until afterwards and late at night that he had awakened in cold sweat and realized the ugly truth; that he would have been responsible for the deaths of over a hundred people. He'd wondered solemnly what had become of him and his eyes had watered as he glanced at his sleeping wife next to him and their exhausted grandchild who hugged her teddy bear tight.

He'd seen through his fingers when it came to the weapons dealings made by the company because it didn't _directly_ kill people but, in the end, _indirectly_ that would be the result. He had argued with Kevin the day after the failed Buzzard test, about how to proceed, but something had sparked in Harrison's eyes and his mind had seemed set on destroying Maggie Whelan once and for all, no matter what. Something cold and distant came over him and he didn't seem to care how many people that got in the way.

Willie suddenly feared what Harrison could do and, with the right associates, even get away with. He hadn't been in the loop when it came to the next move made by Doctor Harrison but he knew the man enough to guess that the second, and even third, attempt of destroying Maggie Whelan by attacking the aircraft was his doing.

When he'd bid Kevin goodbye before his trip to Paris, the last time he'd seen his friend alive, he hadn't recognized him anymore. Willie had promised to cover up his tracks when it came to the reprogramming of the drone and wished him well never the less. Then it had all unraveled before his eyes, the emergency landing made by the Concorde in Switzerland, the money transfers to an associate and colleague in France and the suicide of his longtime friend and business partner.

Kevin Harrison wasn't a man who gave up easily, if he had he wouldn't have been where he was, the leader of a well renowned company. However, his ruthlessness, his dark side, had won him over and forced him into action in order to prevent the company from ruin, from destroying his life and shattering everything he stood for. While cornered the doctor had lashed out, misjudged the situation and lost. The inner circle of the company had been forced to cover up his tracks and claim he'd had an accident. Willie also knew that they were intent on getting the documents back but doubted they'd succeed. The programmer knew that the game was over and that the truth would eventually come out. Now it was just a matter of playing his cards right in order to survive it all.

OOOOOO

Davis looked up from the table as he saw Line walk through the door heading straight for him. He frowned and took off his reading glasses to rub his tired eyes. "Tell me you've had better luck than us," he mused.

Line took in the large amount of people in the room. Their age, background and gender varied but they had one thing in common, they were all experts in their field. Most of them were divided in pairs or smaller groups discussing details about the accident.

She smiled warmly at him and squeezed his shoulder before taking a seat next to him. "You look like you've been at it the whole night," she said.

"Not just me," he admitted and gazed around the room before focusing on her once again. "I was just about to go and grab a cup of coffee, you want one?"

Line nodded but she didn't get out of her chair. Instead she nodded again toward the door.

Henri followed her gaze and saw a young woman walk into the room with several canisters of hot coffee and a bunch of mugs on a tray.

He grinned in appreciation as the woman headed their way to serve them first. One minute later the two colleagues sat sipping quietly on their freshly brewed coffee.

"What did you mean by better luck than us," Line finally asked.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered sourly. "Why would an aircraft less than a year old break apart?"

"You were hoping for me to bring you inconsistencies," she stated cunningly. "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. They all tell me the same story – the aircraft broke apart."

Davis sighed in frustration.

"What about the aircraft itself?" Line asked.

"The guys have dismantled the box and studied data from the FDR all night but it all comes down to what the pilots said. The altitude was dropping drastically for a moment – ten thousand feet, before the aircraft leveled out again. Several systems gave indications of damage, one of them being the fuel pump regulator. Due to failure of structural integrity and ruptures along the body the hydraulic fluid lines were severed and the cabin pressure was lost. Load shifted beneath the passenger cabin-" he threw his hands in the air and trailed off.

Line reached up with her hand to scratch her forehead.

"Vertical acceleration and airspeed is-" he added but was interrupted before he could finish.

"So you're back to square one," she deduced solemnly. "What caused the accident?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I've just been in contact with Sarah and John back at the crash site and they'll be at it for at least a couple of days to see that we haven't missed anything that could point us in the right direction."

"There's something about this-" Line began as she fixed the CVR with her eyes. "Something is going on here that we're missing."

Davis nodded thoughtfully as he put the recorder into playback once again.

" _What was that?"_ They heard Captain Patroni ask in confusion.

" _You better hop down, honey,"_ Captain Metrand said to the little girl who'd been sitting in his lap at the time.

Davis then had the recorder play up another sequence.

" _Jesus, the cargo door…"_ Joseph Patroni said hollowly.

" _The warning light should indicate if it's working or not,"_ Paul Metrand reasoned calmly.

" _Peter?"_ Patroni asked.

" _It's not working. It was okay at the preflight check,"_ the flight engineer reported.

A chill spread down Davis spine at the words and he let go of the button to stop the recording from replaying and then turned to Line. "Have you heard anything from the investigators at the factory? What do they think about the cargo door? He asked curiously.

She shook her head. "I haven't heard a single word since we established contact but they claimed they'd never heard anything so ridiculous before. Furthermore they forwarded us to the software department that delivers the pushbutton terminals. They in turn refuses to believe a malfunction could have caused the accident and, I must say, judging from the material sent to the board it looks unlikely," she admitted.

"I'm not saying the original programming was wrong. I just wonder what would happen if someone should reprogram it?" he said darkly.

"Why would someone do that?" Line asked. "It does sound a little far-fetched. If you'd want to take down an aircraft why not use a bomb or some other device?"

"For example we could easily find residue of a bomb, the CVR and flight components would furthermore lead us to such a thing," Davis reasoned with a smirk.

OOOOOO


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine** – An Explosive Situation

Maggie laughed at her colleagues bickering, her tense shoulders relaxing for the first time since the crash. She watched the board above the elevator door with a grin on her face and tightened her grip around the leather satchel with the documents as the elevator reached the eleventh floor.

"So," Lennie said cheerfully. "Now you know what really happened two months ago when Jeffrey was trying out the diving equipment in Hawaii."

"Perhaps now is a good idea to talk about what really happened last year when you went to Rockefeller Centre?" Jeffrey stated mischievously.

"You know, I think that's a terrible idea," Lennie said, faking indignation.

They headed out of the elevator and across the corridor for the hotel room Maggie was currently residing in after a lengthy breakfast and brainstorming, all of them with a grin on their face.

"Back to business, guys," Maggie said with a sigh but hesitated outside the door.

Jeffrey reached out with his hand and motioned for her to give him the room key. "Thank you," he said and within seconds he'd unlocked, twisted the doorknob and headed inside.

What happened afterwards went in ultra-rapid for Maggie and would become a moment in her life which she would relive for several nights, competing with the nightmares about the airplane crash.

Their entrance to the little suit sat off an explosion that blew out the windows across the room and the trio fell in a heap, their limbs tangled, bruised and twisted. However, the main blast of the rigged C4 inside the room was concentrated toward the larger area where the table stood. That, plus the fact that the time it took for the signal to travel from the trip wire to the ignition was several seconds too long, meant the difference between life and death for the Nightly News anchor and her colleagues.

Maggie fumbled in the darkness and wondered, for the second time in a short period of time, where she was and what had happened. Her sore head had started to ache again and, reverberating through her left collarbone was a hair rising pain that spoke of a disconnected shoulder joint. She saw one of her colleagues begin to stir but she couldn't make out who it was. Spots danced before her eyes as she tried to stand and she fell back to the floor, too exhausted and drained to do anything. Within seconds after her head came to rest on the floor Maggie Whelan gave in to the darkness that lingered at the corner of her eyes ready to claim her.

Lennie grimaced at the shrilling sound of the alarm klaxons in the corridor and rolled over, coughing from the dust and debris that surrounded him. Deeply concerned about his friends and colleagues he tried to shut out the noise that tried to invade his brain and the dust that tickled his nose. He reached up to where he remembered the light switch to be and gasped as the light came on.

Jeffrey Marks, who'd been the first person to enter, had taken the brunt of the explosion. He was lying face down on the plush carpet with his right arm bent in an awkward angle. As Lennie staggered over to take a closer look he saw a faint trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't touch him," a stern voice suddenly cautioned from behind him.

Lennie jerked away from Jeffrey and stared, dumbfounded, at the two paramedics that had appeared in the doorway.

A hotel steward walked up behind them together with Hotel security to try and deduce what had just happened. Seeing the foreboding cracks in large windows behind the stricken man he quickly went into the room and walked straight up to Lennie.

"Please, sir, you'll have to come with me. I'm afraid this room isn't safe," he said apologetically.

"Damn right it isn't!" Lennie shouted angrily at the poor man who appeared to shrink back at his words.

One of the paramedics quickly rose from his position next to Maggie to intervene. "Please, I want to have a look at you Mr-"

"Lennie Daniels," he said and then gazed over the paramedic's shoulder to catch a glimpse of his colleagues. "How are they?"

"They will be well cared for," the paramedic said softly, his voice reassuring. "If you would please follow me outside."

Lennie nodded and made to follow but as he saw the worn leather satchel wiggled between Maggie's feet he bent down to pick it up. A chill went down his spine as he grabbed it and, for the first time since he'd picked Maggie up at the airport, he began to understand that her ideas about Harrison Industries and what they were prepared to do to get their hands on the documents wasn't that far-fetched at all.

He was brought out of his dark musings as a disoriented female voice filtered through his ears. Without thinking he stepped back into the room.

"Documents, I need the documents," Maggie whispered.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?" the paramedic asked carefully as he shone a penlight in her eyes.

She reached up with her hand in an effort to swath away the penetrating beam.

"Ma'am can you tell me your name?" the paramedic asked kindly.

"Maggie…"she whispered. "Maggie Whelan."

"She's been involved in a flight accident," Lennie said, trying to be helpful. "Don't tell me she's…"

The paramedic held up his hand to forestall Lennie and said; "Miss Whelan's vital signs are slightly off but I can see nothing that would warrant a longer hospitalization. She doesn't show any sign of concussion. However, I would insist on taking her to the hospital for a complete check-up."

"No," she whispered. "Lennie, tell them no. I'm just winded. Give me a moment."

"Easy," the paramedic cautioned in a friendly manner as she tried to sit. "Your shoulder have been dislodged and needs to be put back into its socket. I can fix that for you but you need to lie down again."

"I'll help you," Lennie said with a ghost of a reassuring smile as he looked from the paramedic to Maggie. "My little brother did that all the time when we we're kids."

"Just stay calm and focus on something else," the paramedic instructed and then nodded at Lennie.

"Jeff-" she began and then grinded her teeth, letting out an agonizing cry as the joint popped back into alignment.

"That's good, take a few deep breaths," the paramedic cautioned. "You did great, Miss Whelan. Is Jeff the name of the man next to you?"

She nodded.

The other paramedic, who'd worked in silence spoke up. "I'm afraid he needs to be taken to the hospital right away," he said seriously with a glance toward his colleague.

OOOOOO

A sharp shrill of the telephone broke through his vivid nightmare and he shot upright in the bed. Wearily, with a grimace, he reached for the phone.

"It better be important," Eli said unapprovingly.

" _Mr. Sande, there is a long-distance call for you,"_ the receptionist at the hotel said over the line.

Eli rubbed his tired eyes and cast a glance to his right and saw that his wife was still asleep. Mindful not to wake her he whispered; "Put it through."

A moment later vice president Joshua Dalton's voice boomed from the other end. _"My apologies for the late hour, Eli, but I think you'll consider it important enough,"_ he said excusing the call.

"Let it at least be good news," Eli mumbled.

" _I'm afraid not,"_ Joshua replied seriously. _"The manufacturing company refuses to let us file any insurance claims based on faulty equipment or merchandise."_

"They what?" he demanded, feeling his blood pressure rise.

" _They insists that an investigation is to be started, or has started actually, and before they accept any claims from the FWA they demand to see every report written by NTSB, their associates in Switzerland, and the investigators presently on location,"_ the VP of FWA explained. _"Furthermore they are interested in our maintenance work done after the incident with the Buzzard drone. Unless we can prove that the aircraft was ready for flight and didn't sport any tears or fractures along the hull or suffered severe stresses due to the incident, they'll not accept anything from us."_

"Fine," Eli muttered sourly. "I'll give Tim a call, he should be in Paris by now, and have him call up the reports about the repair work done. And it better be signed and filed."

" _I regret to remind you that it will most likely be filed by Froelich, a man who was found dead on the strip with his pocket full of money,"_ Dalton said gloomily. _"Talk to you soon."_

"Great," Eli muttered as the connection was severed.

OOOOOO

Maggie moaned and slowly opened her eyes as the early morning sun filtered through the curtains.

She squinted at the light that had awoken her and glanced around the room. Her eyes settled on a glass of water standing on the nightstand next to the bed and her throat suddenly felt very dry. She clumsily reached out with her hand but her movement was uncoordinated and, instead of grasping the glass, she dropped it on the floor.

The door to the room opened and her colleague popped his head in with a look of worry on his face. "Maggie, are you all right?" Lennie asked.

She smiled at him. "I'm fine, just a little clumsy," she said wearily, then she paled and hastily tried to sit.

"Easy," Lennie cautioned softly as he walked up to her. "The doctor said you needed rest, remember?"

She managed a small huff. "Which one? They all say that nowadays," she said with a twinkle in her eyes before becoming serious again. "How's Jeffrey and where's the documents?"

"Okay, first things first. Do you know what happened?" he asked.

"There was some kind of explosion at the hotel," she mused, her expression distant and forlorn, as if she was trying to remember. "I'd dislocated my shoulder, you helped them get it right. They wanted to hospitalize me for observation – did you bring me home?"

Lennie nodded. "You're in my guest room. I figured it was the safest place for you at the moment," he said. "The police are eager to speak to you when you're feeling up to it. I promised to bring you in so that you could have a chat with them."

"You told them?" she asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded seriously. "I told them of our suspicions, they didn't laugh it off. I think our last brush with death at the hotel confirmed there is something serious going on."

She nodded as she settled back in bed, relief washing over her but then she remembered the bag she'd been carrying. "Lennie, the documents," she urged. "Without them there's nothing-"

"Calm down and relax Maggie," he said and walked across the room to retrieve the leather satchel for her. "I figured you'd want another look at them before we turn them in to the police as evidence."

"Thank you, Lennie," she whispered in appreciation.

"As for Jeff-" Lennie swallowed, contemplating how much to tell her. "He's in a bad shape. I sat with him last night after they'd performed surgery on him to stop an internal bleeding. I don't like the way he look, Maggie," he said darkly. "But they say it's up to him now."

"Last night?" she said in confusion. "How long have I been here, Lennie?"

About one and a half day, give or take. You've been sleeping most of the time and I really think you needed it," he said with a smile. "You look much better."

"I think I feel better too," she returned gratefully.

"Good, because I have to warn you, the press has gotten the winds of your involvement in the Park Hotel explosion and people are speculating wildly," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm not surprised," she said solemnly. "After all, I do know the business."

OOOOOO


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten** – Departure and Arrival

Joe smiled as he saw Paul approaching him. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked.

"You know I've heard that question a multiple times over the last few days," Paul answered with a smirk and put his hands in front of his mouth to blow some warm air in his palms. "This place is too cold for me."

Joe chuckled. "I thought you liked it here, it was you who used to ski here and that wasn't too long ago was it?" he asked.

Paul shuddered. "If I'm to be exact that was five years ago. I did an involuntary flip and fractured my wrist," he said sarcastically.

Joe grimaced. "Bad luck," he said apologetically.

"Not really," Paul admitted with a faint smile. "I wasn't paying attention. I had my eyes on a beautiful brunette."

"Ouch," Joe said and suddenly laughed out loud. "Tell me you got the girl."

Paul shook his head. "Like I said I never told you I liked it here. You assumed I liked it here," he stated slyly.

"Well, you didn't give away much. You only said you used to ski here. I figured you liked it here," Joe returned.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Let's forget about that trip now," he said in annoyance and turned to gaze out over the frozen landscape. "Joseph, I've been thinking-"

The seriousness in his French colleague's voice made him turn toward him and follow his gaze until it settled on the wreck of the aircraft.

"Why did it go after us?" Paul finished.

"I think you just lost me," Joe said in confusion.

"That military drone. According to the filed flight plan the test would have taken place far away from us. The dummy aircraft it was supposed to be chasing was heading in the opposite direction and inland. It would not have been possible for the drone to accidentally pass its intended target and go for the Concorde instead," Paul reasoned.

"I don't think I like what you're insinuating," Joe mused unhappily.

"Okay, say that it really was an accident. How do you explain away the guy that flew under the radar and actually fired his missiles on us after the drone had been taken out?" Paul asked.

"I don't know about you, Paul, but I think that guy teased the French Air force a little too much. They wouldn't like being pictured as clueless and confused in the newspaper. They'd do anything to nail the bastard and find his true identity. Rest assured that they're determined to get to the bottom with it."

Paul snorted. "Well, that's exactly what they'll have to do. Get to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean," he said sarcastically.

"It's certainly an interesting point of view but why would Harrison Industries blow their deal with the military and lose a contract worth millions just to blow us out of the sky and why would the company be connected to the guy in the fighter jet? Forget it Paul, what got you thinking about that – the press? They're always trying to find conspiracies where there are none. However, all the intrigues aside I'm most curious as of why the cargo door popped open mid-flight," Joe said.

"Me too, Joseph. Me too," Paul echoed mutedly.

"There you are!" Isabelle said with a smile. "Our caretakers want to serve us a parting meal. The medical helicopter will arrive at nineteen hundred hours local time and pick us up."

Paul hastily glanced at his wristwatch, it was only a little over three hours left.

Inside the house Joanna Jones couldn't help but to smile as the older nurse and part owner of the medical practice walked into the large dining room balancing a tray filled with various things.

She hastily went forward and gently took the tray from the woman. "Let me do that Mrs. Horst," she said softly, eager to do something.

"It's Heidi, remember?" She said seriously albeit with a smile as she let the flight attendant take the tray from her and watched as the younger woman effortlessly walked over to the table with it.

"Well, it's certainly not the first time you've done that," the nurse said with a warm smile.

Joanna's lips curled upwards as she began to arrange the glasses and bestick around the table. "I don't mind doing this and I don't mind serving people. In my youth, before I applied as a flight attendant, I worked at a restaurant," she said.

"I'm curious," Heidi began. "What made you want to apply?"

"For starters, the travels, to be able to see so much of the world. Part of the job is basically the same as at the restaurant. You take orders from your customers, serve drinks and dishes-" Joanna chuckled lightly and wrinkled her nose. "Of course nothing prepared me for the luftgropar at the restaurant."

Heidi laughed. "Placed any coffee in the laps of a passenger?" she asked.

Joanna nodded sheepishly. "I've done worse," she admitted. "I dropped a paper cup filled to the brim in the first officer's lap. I remember it well because it was on one of my first flights. He was old and stern. I was nearly thrown out of the cockpit."

Heidi chuckled and shook her head jovially.

"Then, when we'd arrived at our destination and I was walking together with my colleagues from the cabin, the captain walked up to me. I recall the amused look on his face as he gently placed his hand on my shoulder and said; 'Welcome to West Air.'"

"My goodness," Claude said with mock despair as he and the other flight attendant, Mary Clark walked into the room. "You worked for West Air?"

Joanna raised an impeccable eyebrow. "You too?" she asked in disbelief.

"I transferred after two months," he said. "Couldn't stand 'Captain Grumpy' and his bunch of happy campers."

"Who?" Joanna asked with a low chuckle.

"Prendergast," Claude clarified. "He disliked me from day one."

"Spilled coffee in his lap?" Heidi asked mischievously, unable to help herself.

They all burst out laughing.

"Cheerful bunch," Paul remarked as he, Joe, Peter and Isabelle walked in to join the rest of them with Doctor Horst in tow.

"I believe they were nicknaming flight crews," Peter said dryly in his best British accent.

"Really?" Joe mused cunningly as he spared a glance at Paul. "I wonder what they call us – Papa Bear and the Pink Panther."

Paul spared him an indignant glance but he was unable not to smile. "What?" he asked in disbelief, all traces of his French accent gone.

"Please, stop," Mary gasped between the laughs as she placed a hand over her bruised ribs. "It hurts."

Doctor Horst cleared his throat. "Why don't we all take a seat," he suggested.

Paul harrumphed as he sat down at the table. "Americans," he muttered.

"I heard that, honey," Joe whispered jovially as he got into the chair next to him.

"Now," Heidi began as she raised her glass. "Let's toast to the crew, flight and cabin, of the Concorde."

The others quickly raised their glasses in the air to join in.

"Thank you for bringing that aircraft down safely and for saving all the lives onboard," Heidi finished.

"Thank you for taking care of us," Joe said and the others chimed in.

The doctor spoke up at the end of the table. "Well, when the chefs at the hotel heard that we planned a dinner for you they insisted on fixing it so what you see on the table is from every one of us that work here at the resort. We will certainly not forget you."

"I chose to interpret that as a good thing," Joe said with a sly grin and nodded toward Paul. "Or what do you think, Pink Panther?"

Paul, unprepared for the mischievous comment, nearly choked on his sparkling water while the others burst out laughing again.

"I think, Papa Bear, that next time we fly together I'll throw you out the door," he said testily albeit with a teasing smile.

Doctor Horst shook his head at them, a smile still lingering on his lips, before he turned somber and glanced around the table at the men and women before him. "I'm glad you are able to laugh about it but I must caution you. You've been through a lot lately and the body, even though it's an amazing thing, takes time to heal. You're lucky to escape with cuts and bruises, some soreness and stiff joints. I think you know it could have been much worse," he said seriously.

"Franz," Heidi warned. "You're spoiling the good mood."

"What I'm trying to say is – just take it easy for a while, no strenuous activities, listen to your bodies. Take care of yourselves," he said softly.

"We will," Isabelle said and she spoke for everyone. "As Joe said before; thank you for taking care of us. We'll never forget you either."

OOOOOO

Tim Johnston relaxed and took a deep breath as he unbuckled his seatbelt, glad that he'd finally arrived. He hated flying and despite his easygoing demeanor on the outside he was downright afraid while being up in the air. He reasoned that was because he'd seen too many documentaries on the television showing some of the most gruesome aircraft crashes in the history of the United States. What rattled him the most at the moment was the latest accident that had hit a little too close to home, involving an aircraft he'd inspected himself only two days ago. He shook his head as he took his luggage and headed out of the aircraft and down the stairs to the ground where a terminal buss awaited to take the passengers to the main building and then, probably, further away around the world.

Johnston glanced wearily at his watch and sighed. The trouble with travelling from the US to Europe was the time difference. He'd already lost almost a day. It was already early night, the sun had settled and been replaced by the silvery moon and he knew that the night shift had revealed the regular crew. He would not be able to conduct much of an investigation on his own at night so he might just as well head inside the Airport building and make for the office to have some chit chat and a coffee.

It took the lead mechanic almost another thirty minutes to reach the Federation World Airlines office situated at the far end of one of the tarmacs at Charles de Gaulle. When he walked through the door a beautiful dark haired woman clad in the company's suit fired off a welcoming bright smile despite the late hour.

"Welcome to France. It is not often that we see you, Mr. Johnston," she said politely.

Tim couldn't help but to smile back. "If I'd know my colleagues were much prettier overseas I would have come sooner," he said.

"Such comments will take you far," she replied mischievously. "I do suspect that you could kill for large cup of coffee."

He nodded as she turned away from him and retrieved a freshly brewed beverage and handed it to him. He greedily began to sip on the coffee and squealed in delight at the taste of the deep aroma.

"I hope it was satisfactory," the woman said with a dazzling smile at the look of joy on his face. "I was told you liked it black and strong."

"It was perfect and just what I needed. You spoil me and, if you keep going, I'll have to bargain for more time in Paris," he said and returned the smile as the weariness he'd felt earlier vanished. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."

"My apologies," she said softly in her French accented English and introduced herself. "I'm Celine Bonn, the administration manager at the de Gaulle office."

"I'm curious," he drawled softly, his eyes sparkling. "What does the manager do at the office at such lousy hours?"

She bent forward over the desk seductively. "Well, Monsignor Johnston, what does the company's maintenance head officer do at the office at such a late hour?"

He chuckled. "Touché."

She shook her head lightly as she straightened, poured another cup of coffee and added cream to it. "I drew the shortest straw and got the night flights on my schedule," she explained.

He rolled his eyes and reached up to scratch his brow lightly. "Bad luck," he stated with a twitch of his lips. "Seems I'm having bad luck as well. I had hoped to arrive sooner but with the delay and everything I didn't have a chance to get here before maintenance supervisor Grange went home."

"That's all right," Celine said. "Sean left some folders up here should you be eager to start your investigation."

Tim brightened. "Well, what does he have for me?"

"The checklists for maintenance on the Concorde, Froelich's last filed notes, the name and workbooks from the crew that has been working with the supersonic aircraft recently. He said it was all you needed to get started," she said.

"Wonderful," he said as he nodded behind her. "Can I use one of the desks?"

"Certainly," Celine said. "But please don't be at it the whole night. One of my staff has booked you in at the closest five star Hotel. I suggest you go there and have a few hours of sleep, get refreshed and grab a nice breakfast before diving into work. Grange will be at the maintenance section at seven o'clock tomorrow morning."

OOOOOO


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven** – Healing

Paul Metrand was taking shallow, strained breaths as he ran down the street but quickened his pace nevertheless. He had been running several miles, his t-shirt was plastered against his lean chest and his hair lay slick against his forehead but he didn't care. His lungs burned with exhaustion as he finally gave in and stopped to lean forward and rest his elbows on his thigs.

Three days had gone by since the crash-landing, three days in agony, joy and gloom. While Isabelle had been crying he'd clammed up, bottling it all up inside him until he was alone. For a while back there in Switzerland he'd thought he'd go crazy caught up between nosy reporters, annoying doctors and suspecting flight investigators. Everything felt surreal, from being designated a real hero to being cheered at by joyful and thankful people, to being accused of wrongdoings while handling the aircraft and being forced to stay at the medical center while poked and prodded. When they'd been ferried to Innsbruck International Airport by helicopter he'd found himself dreading to board the plane that would take them home. For the first time in his life he'd been afraid of flying. Isabelle had eyed him wearily and gently taken his hand into hers, she'd looked up at him with a hesitant smile, drawing comfort and strength from him while he in truth had none. He'd pulled himself together and stepped into the plane hand in hand with her and cautiously smiled back. The cabin crew of the aircraft had slapped them on their backs, the first class passengers had clapped their hands on their arrival and the joy in the air seemed to smitten Isabelle as she broke into a ghostly grin. Joe too looked happy albeit a little weary as he sat down at the other side of the aisle but when their eyes meet a mutual understanding was shared between them. The attention of them was unwanted and all they wished for was a quiet place to find peace again. The flight had went well and they'd all sneaked off the plane and into a taxi in order to avoid the people waiting at the De Gaulle. Paul and Joe had bid each other goodbye as Joe was to continue to fly as a passenger to Dulles in Washington.

Paul was brought back from his musings of the previous days as he gingerly straightened his aching body. He overlooked the tranquil street in his neighborhood and glanced up at the ominous clouds that had formed, covering the clear blue sky. He welcomed the cold splashes of water as the rain began to pour down on him. Within seconds his feet once again pounded the pavement as he headed for his large house a bit further down the street. The fast pace running and the pain caused by it made him feel alive again. For he still felt surreal and out of place after the accident, he still didn't understand why they had all survived, why he sported only cuts and bruises while he should have died. While the world seemed unchanged he himself had changed so much that it felt like he didn't belong anymore. Paul Metrand sprinted the last few steps up to the front door and reached into his pocket to retrieve the key. He walked inside and gently slid down to sit on the floor just inside the entrance door, his back propped up against the wall as he sighed and closed his eyes. He was suddenly grateful that Isabelle had left a few hours earlier to return to her flat so that he could break apart alone.

OOOOOO

Joseph Patroni paid the taxi cab driver and then watched as the taxi slowly made its way back into the rather hectic traffic. He sighed as he turned toward the gate of the churchyard ahead of him and hesitated, a hand on the cold iron gate. It was a beautiful day, the warm wind tousled his hair lightly and the leaves danced in the breeze. The sky was clear and strikingly blue as he glanced upwards, grazed with a single stripe of vapor from an aircraft as it flew high above. With a determined look he stared at the bright colors of the roses in his hands and then slowly pushed the gate open. He walked solemnly down the aisle, his feet marking the path in the newly fixed gravel. He kept walking down the rows automatically until he came to stand next to his wife's grave. The seasoned pilot slowly knelt down and gently removed the old flowers to replace them with the new bouquet.

"Hello, Helen," he whispered hollowly. "I should have come sooner but life has been hectic lately. I've missed your rationality, your logic and wisdom – " he trailed off as he felt tears sting in his eyes.

"I've missed your touch and encouragement," he finally said and buried his face in his hands.

A comfortable silence settled over the place as he gathered himself and leveled his eyes on the text marking the stone.

"Why did you have to die, Helen?" he whispered and then laughed ironically. "A freaking traffic accident. You died in a freaking traffic accident while I survived an airplane crash."

Joe felt his anger rising and then suddenly chuckled and shook his head. "You know, if you were here you would tell me to stop endorsing in self-pity and straighten up. Not to mull over things you can't control."

The leaves frazzled as the wind played with the large oak tree next to him and he once again glanced up in the sky. "Was it faith?" he whispered.

He got no answer and it wasn't like he had expected any.

"I can't give up flying, Helen," he finally said morosely. "I've been flying for over thirty years. As long as I'm certified fit I'm going to fly – it's my life. I know nothing else and I can do nothing else." Joe suddenly laughed, his eyes twinkling. "I remember you telling me that when I tried to help you in the garden that sunny day in the early spring two years ago."

"Anyway, I'll be temporarily flying Boeing again at FWA until the second Concorde has been delivered. It'll only be for six months, hopefully, then I'm back to flying supersonic. I know you have your doubts about that type of airliner but I feel nothing but awe as I walk into the cockpit. It's a little like flying F-15 fighter jets again and at the same time nothing like it, he said dreamingly then sobered up. "I don't know honey, the world seems so strange. At times I feel like I can do anything, even walk out in front of a bus. It feels like nothing's going to kill me. Nothing can kill me anymore." Joe chuckled again and shook his head. "This is where you would tell me to get a grip," he added mischievously.

"Anyway, I wish you could have gotten to know Paul and Isabelle. I think you would have liked them. Well, maybe not directly after you'd found out he set me up with a hooker in Paris but you'd warmed up eventually. My goodness, Helen, I had qualms about that for weeks."

The wind blew stronger suddenly and then the flowers danced in the vase.

"Is that your way of telling me I am forgiven?" he asked curiously as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

He inhaled the fresh breeze and got up from his crouched position, grimacing as his knees protested the action. "I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled as he straightened and adjusted his light windbreaker. "Goodbye, Helen, I will always love you."

OOOOOO

Maggie Whelan's head was pounding, the explosion had intensified the dull headache that had refused to leave her alone since the flight accident. It felt like she'd been telling her story over and over again to the agents and police officers present in the interrogation room back at the precinct. At first they'd grilled her for information about the bomb in her hotel room and why someone would try to kill her. She'd looked at them seriously and simply told them what she knew. At first they'd stared at her, like she'd been crazy, and probably thought she'd hit her head a little too hard in the rough landing back in the Alps. Then they'd slowly started to see things from her point of view and decided, probably against better judgement, to look into her story effective immediately. The documents was taken away from her and given to the fraud department to determine their origin and whether or not they were real. Maggie had bit her lower lip to prevent a snort because of the documents authenticity she had no doubt. Now she could only wait and see and most importantly hope for the best.

OOOOOO

"Eli?" Amy asked in confusion as she stared at the empty side of the bed beside her. She frowned and pulled a gown over her negligee before heading out in the larger living room of their hotel suite.

She found him sitting in a plush armchair next to the window overlooking the bustling morning traffic of Moscow several floors below them. Next to him, on the table, lay a discarded Russian newspaper.

She frowned at the thumbed newspaper and the sullen look on his face. Intrigued and a bit concerned she walked over and eyed the front-page curiously. Amy didn't understand Russian but the picture of several Russian athletes huddled together, looking both stricken and overly relieved at the same time, and the word Concorde written in large letters just below the picture made her able to guess what it was all about.

Eli tore his eyes away from the traffic to look steely at his young wife. "Well, the Federation World Airlines is certainly famous worldwide now. It's just not pictured the way I intended," he said sourly.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly. "It was an accident."

"Was it?" he countered angrily, causing her to take a step back. "No one here seem to think so. And frankly I'm not so sure myself. What are the odds of an aircraft being nearly shot down by a malfunctioning attack drone and then attacked again by a fighter aircraft?"

"Harrison Industries has issued a nationwide apology for flying their Buzzard into the civil aviation routes east of Dulles International," Amy said calmly, sensing that her husband was on the edge.

Eli harrumphed. "That's the attack drone. That doesn't explain the mystery Airforce pilot in the fighter jet. Nor does it explain why the freaking cargo door blew off mid-air or why our chief mechanic at de Gaulle was found dead with his pockets full of money," he finished with his voice raised.

Amy looked at him sadly. "No, I guess it doesn't," she said.

A faint smile broke out on his lips as he looked at his wife. "I'm sorry, Amy. It's not you I'm angry at, it's just all so frustrating," he said apologetically as she sat down next him.

She looked at him and hesitated before she finally spoke. "I want to go home, Eli."

He nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry I talked you into coming, Amy. Believe me, this was not how I pictured our trip to Moscow. We've missed the banquette, we've failed to bring the Russian competitors home safely. It took a lot of persuasion just to get them onboard a US registered civil airline company. And the Concorde –" he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "The first supersonic airliner delivered to the states. She was going to be the pride of our fleet, the damn plane cost a fortune. All the arrangements made with the French-British factory, the new flight crew; all the new routes we were supposed to traffic."

She didn't know why but she couldn't help but to smile at him and his tirade.

He chuckled despite everything and shook his head. "Amy," he said. "We don't even have a flight home."

She gently reached out to squeeze his hand. "One thing seem to be true to our motto; we do have the best crew in the world. Both flight- and cabin crew."

Eli nodded. "Yeah, and instead of sitting here and sulk I should make certain they'll stay with us," he said with certainty. "I'll do that, call the head office back home, punch some nosy reporters, sort this mess out, claim insurance on the aircraft and demand to get all reports from the investigators-" he trailed off and glanced at his wife. "-but first I'll have us booked on a flight back home."

OOOOOO

Gemma Harrison felt something wasn't right, she couldn't put a finger on it but something was off. She knew Kevin had always been thrill-seeking and adventurous but he wasn't one to rush head into something he didn't know he could pull off. Therefore to hear of his accident, while attending a charity funding in Europe, made alarm bells ring in her ears. Due to his travels abroad with the company and the long hours at the testing facility they didn't see each other as much as she'd liked any longer and there had been times when she suspected he had a mistress but she'd never been able to confirm her theory.

However, that didn't automatically mean that she'd stopped loving him and she knew that their daughters really enjoyed spending time with their dad. She felt empty inside as she sat alone at the large kitchen table in their common residence. She didn't know what to do or how to act, how to keep up appearances in front of their friends and neighbors. Money would never be a problem for her or the girls, it was all the rest. The large company, the spacious flat downtown, the beach house in California. Her immediate problem was the reporters that had been pestering her for the length of the entire day. One was particularly persistent about seeing her and claimed that Kevin's company was playing dirty. What he had meant by that she had no idea.

With a sigh she reached for an older newspaper and stared at the front page. It held a picture of the supersonic aircraft that had been targeted by the Buzzard, the attack drone that Kevin and Willie had been working on for so long. Gemma stared at the picture of the shiny white, sleek aircraft that looked nothing like a regular airliner and let out a relieved sigh that she'd managed to escape the deadly attack drone. Kevin couldn't even hurt a fly at home and Gemma was worried about his reaction had the drone he'd helped to manufacture killed over a hundred of innocent people. Her eyes watered at the thought of her husband and a tear trickled down her cheek as she found herself wondering why he had to leave her at a moment like this. She needed him more now than ever when the last of their common daughters had left home. Gemma glanced around the spacious kitchen in the empty house and felt tears sting in her eyes. She felt so lonely and abandoned.

OOOOOO

John Field glanced up from the newspaper in front of him as several people walked into the large conference room at the top floor of the Harrison Industries HQ. He was sitting at the end of a large glass table with a freshly brewed cup of coffee next to him.

"I'm glad to see that you could join me at such short notice," he said as he eyed the men in the process of sitting down.

"The situation is as follows, gentlemen," he explained curtly, yet there was nothing polite over him. "Maggie Whelan is still alive and by now she's probably even more determined to nail our sorry asses."

"And the documents are still not back into our possession," Special Operations Director Anderson said, straightforward as usual. "I'll see to it that our hitman is taken care of."

"Where did you find him anyway?" Jones asked brusquely.

Anderson met his steely eyes squarely but refrained from answering.

"Our time is running out," Field said flatly.

"Forgive my bluntness, but it's ridiculous to even think anyone would connect Harrison Industries with any wrongdoings. Especially after Willies report about our drone incident. Everything is explained; the deviation from the flightpath, the failure of the system, communication breakdown," Sales Director Riggs reasoned and turned to Halpern. "Willie has thought of everything. Furthermore the military has decided not to launch their own investigation as they consider our actions to be enough. The whole thing is to be filed away as an unfortunate incident that didn't lead to anything dangerous."

"What are you saying exactly, Riggs?" Anderson asked, sounding doubtful. "That the military still want to get their hands on our drone?"

"After we've offered to give them more insight in our programming and explain to them what makes the Buzzard so prominent and sophisticated I'd say there's still a chance," he stated.

"It went after the Concorde – a civil aircraft that carried over a hundred people," the engineer at the far end of the table said. "As far as the military is concerned that was an accident. They would not buy something that could become a liability. Imagine they'd bought the drone and ended up with the same scenario – the world would have gone wild. No matter how skilled our diplomats might be it would take time to reestablish trust for America again."

"But it wasn't a failure, it was done purposely," Jones argued.

"Exactly but the military can't know about that, nor can anyone else," the engineer said sternly as he focused on Jones. "You release that kind of information and we'll be charged for attempted murder."

"I think we're all aware of that dilemma," Field said pointedly.

"So, where does that lead us?" Anderson quipped curiously.

"We let it rest," the chairman said nonchalantly. "When Miss Whelan presents the material we'll claim it to be falsified. Doctor Harrison's choice of lawyers are excellent. When the time comes I'd say that any suspicions cast upon us would be dropped."

OOOOOO


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve – Rude Awakening**

Maggie Whelan swung her feet over the edge of the bed and walked over to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. She walked up to the basin, leaned forward against it and stared into the mirror before her. She looked terrible, her complexion was gloomy and her eyes seemed dull. With a sigh she put on the tap and reached down to splash water on her face.

Lennie had insisted that she'd rest after they'd left the police office and since she was too tired and worn to argue she'd agreed. Now, she felt restless as her colleague had left the house and gone to visit Jeffrey at the hospital. The last attempt on her life had set her on edge and she needed something to occupy her mind with now that the documents were no longer in her possession.

She grinned wickedly as she walked over to the phone, a crazy idea forming in her head. Without really thinking it through she picked up the phone and asked the operator to connect the call to Harrison Industries.

She frowned as her call went unanswered for a long time and was about to hang up when a female voice came over the line. A voice that Maggie recalled belonged to Kevin's personal secretary.

" _Doctor Harrison's office,"_ she said softly.

The remark that was meant for Kevin died on her lips and she hesitated for a moment.

" _Hello?"_ the secretary said.

"Hello, my name is…Jeannie Jackson. I was hoping to speak to Doctor Harrison," she said.

" _I regret to inform you Miss Jackson that Doctor Harrison is no longer among us,"_ the woman answered.

Maggie's mouth suddenly felt very dry and a knot formed in her stomach at the words. "Pardon me?" she finally managed.

" _Doctor Harrison died in a tragic accident a week ago,"_ his secretary informed. _"If you'd please tell me the reason for your call and I'll connect you to the officer you're to speak with."_

"No, no that's okay. It wasn't a business call. I'm an old time friend of Kevin and I was in the neighborhood," she lied.

" _Then I regret that you found out about his demise this way, Miss Jackson,"_ she said sympathetically.

"Thank you," Maggie whispered in shock. She slid down the wall, her hands still gripping the phone as the call terminated. "This can't be," she murmured and silently wondered what else had transpired that her colleague had left out.

OOOOOO

Tim Johnston rubbed his weary eyes in frustration. He'd gone over everything twice, he'd interviewed several of the mechanics working on the aircraft to see to the repairs. Every document had been carefully, minutely, filled in and signed. They'd even photo documented certain repairs, which was unique. He found himself marveling about how fast they were able to replace the damaged hydraulics and see to it that the aircraft was flight worthy. They'd flown the aircraft to the Charles de Gaulle airport just before sunrise. Nothing seemed to be amiss, it was a spotless record that lay before him. There was one thing that troubled him though and that was the testimony made by Froelich's assistant who'd claimed that he saw him check out a circuit card in the storage department. Froelich had then entered the cargo area of the aircraft to perform a sweep and take some readings as a last precaution.

Johnston sighed. Froelich had died running out on the strip, caught in the tailwinds of the Concorde. His actions before that didn't make sense. He'd booked a flight to Bahamas but he hadn't applied for time off, he hadn't handed in his resignation. As the man in charge of the overall maintenance it would have been Tim who'd received such a request from Manuel Froelich. There was also the fact that the engineer had been running from the airport security guards and had been found with his pockets full of money. Was it a coincidence that a man with money problems suddenly had turned rich?

The pilots on the ill-fated flight claimed the cargo door popped open mid-air. Surely the manufacturer of such a technical marvel as the Concorde was supposed to be would have made sure such things weren't possible?

What scared Tim was that Froelich was alone in the area where the circuitry for the cargo door was situated the night before take-off. He had plenty of opportunity to take a good look at it without anyone suspecting foul play. Tim also knew that Froelich was a gifted technician, otherwise he would never have been able to apply for the job. He didn't doubt that, if Froelich had wanted to, he could have manipulated the cargo door. The question was why he would do such a thing. Someone bought his services, someone with large pockets and a lot of money who didn't care about the lives of those onboard the aircraft. The real tragedy in that fact was that Froelich couldn't be brought to justice for his actions and no one would ever know what went through his mind when he accepted the job. Fate had dealt with him directly and this time it wasn't a good thing.

Johnston shuddered, thinking back at the somewhat shy man with a spotless service record. It was time to add this piece of information to the investigators.

OOOOOO

Amy Sande tensed, hesitating outside the aircraft at Domodedovo Airport in Moscow.

"Come on now Amy," Eli said softly as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's going to happen."

"I really don't like flying," she said, her voice quivering slightly.

"You'll get over it," he assured her as he steered her toward the cabin door. "I'll tell you what. It's the safest way to travel."

"Doesn't feel like it," Amy replied sourly.

"Do you know what the probability is of being involved in two flight accidents?" he asked.

"Most people probably die in the first one," Amy quipped.

"Don't be such a baby, honey. Get onboard the aircraft," he commanded, his patience running out.

She forced a polite smile on her lips as they passed the dark haired flight attendant, standing at the doorway, and handed her their tickets.

"Welcome onboard Mr. and Mrs. Sande. My colleague will take you to the first class compartment and see to it that you'll have everything you desire," she said kindly.

"I really wish our executive jet could have picked us up, it would have saved us some trouble," Eli mumbled in her ear as they headed up the staircase to the flight deck and their first class seats.

The statement elicited a wry smile from Amy but she remained quiet until the flight attendant had bid them goodbye after showing them how to call her and order anything they'd require on the flight.

"Don't you like to fly commercial, Eli," she teased softly.

He grunted. "Four hours on a Russian owned Boeing 747. I hope they follow maintenance procedures."

Amy couldn't help herself as she gently patted him on the shoulder. "Statistically, flying is the safest way to travel," she said in amusement.

He gave her a dubious look and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm afraid we'll have to stay a few nights in Paris to sort everything out before heading back to Washington," he said, ignoring her statement.

"You mean I'll finally have time to stroll around the fashionable streets of Paris?" she said, the tone of voice slightly sarcastic as if she doubted his words then she added jovially. "Take your time, Eli. I'm sure Paris and I'll get along just fine."

OOOOOO

Paul Metrand didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, on the floor, just inside the entrance door and frankly he didn't care. He'd come from an even longer run than the day before and had been caught up in a rainfall, the aftereffects of thunder and lightning. He summoned his last ounce of strength to get up, grimacing as his battered body protested the action. He felt horrible, shivering from the coldness of the damp clothes. Reaching the second floor he slowly undressed and got into the shower, letting the warm water gently run down his aching head and sore muscles. The tremendous forces of the crash had left vivid bruising over his collarbones and down the upper part of his chest and, although he'd never admit it, he felt a stiffness in his joints and ligaments that he'd never experienced before. The long jogging run had done nothing to soothe the aches of his body or worked out the kinks in his back, quite the opposite. Thirty minutes later he turned off the water and reached for a towel. Wearily he then wrapped the towel around his middle and walked over to the mirror. The man with an ashen face and dull eyes that stared back at him hollowly made him purse his lips into a thin line of displeasure. "I look ill," he mused, his voice no more than a whisper.

He was brought out of his self-loathing by the shrill of the phone further down the hallway. Gloomily he ran a hand through his wet hair, took one last look at himself in the mirror and sighed.

"Yes," he said into the mouthpiece, his voice stern.

" _Captain Metrand?"_ a familiar voice boomed at the other end.

"Speaking," he said, his voice softening as he recognized the caller. "Hello, Mr. Sande."

There was a slight chuckle at the other end. _"Listen, I don't know how to break this to you. My wife says I'm not the most diplomatic man in the world. Hell, I like to give orders, comes from the military. Anyway, son. I'm not sure I thanked you enough back in Switzerland. You did some amazing flying putting us down on the ground in one piece."_

"Thanks, sir, but I have to admit it was pure self-preservation on my part," he said modestly yet cockily.

For a moment Eli Sande recognized himself in the younger man but he didn't comment on that, it was a mere reflection. _"As you know I leased a Concorde from the factory in Toulouse and as part of the agreement I also got an experienced pilot in the deal,"_ he began, weighing his words carefully. _"As we both know, the supersonic airliner the FWA purchased is beyond salvation. The company has requested that the factory will shorten the delivery time set for the other Concorde that FWA leased but there has been no news at the moment. I could release you from the contract but frankly, Paul, I'm not willing to do that. I want you on the team, heck I want you to fly the new Concorde as soon as it arrives; that is, if you have time. You see, I've talked this through with the board and FWA want you as their Chief pilot and fleet captain,"_ he finished.

Paul slowly sat down on the chair next to the phone with a frown, studying the plush rug under his still wet feet for a moment, unsure how to respond.

" _Well, say something, son,"_ Eli demanded brusquely.

Paul finally found his voice. "You don't know if I'll get through the medical tests or the simulator tests yet and be recertified," he reasoned cautiously.

Eli snorted. _"In my mind there is no doubt about that,"_ he replied confidently. _"The job is yours if you want it, captain."_

Between the doubts, the memories and his dark musings something sparked and the dullness in the blue eyes was replaced by a renewed flame. "Consider it taken then," he said.

" _Thought you would say that. I would have been disappointed otherwise_ ," Mr. Sande stated. _"Welcome back, Paul. I'll be in France for a while and I can have the papers ready tomorrow. I expect to see you in the office at Charles de Gaulle after lunch."_

"I'll see you then, Mr. Sande," Paul confirmed.

" _One more thing. After everything we've been through I'd appreciate if you called me Eli, Paul."_

"I think I can manage that, Eli," Paul assured him.

" _Good, then I'll see you tomorrow,"_ he said curtly and ended the call, leaving Paul to stare at the phone for a moment and wonder what just happened.

OOOOOO


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen – Theories**

"… _we can now confirm that the explosion at the infamous Park Hotel a few days ago was no accident. Crime scene investigators have found traces of nitroglycerin, a highly volatile and unstable substance that serves a main ingredient for TNT, in the hotel room,"_ the serious news anchor reported.

"How the hell did they get that information?" Antonio Vest muttered.

Lennie cast a glance in the Nightly News executive officer's direction but he said nothing, instead he bit his lower lip in frustration.

The reporter had come straight to the office after having visited his wounded colleague at the hospital to fill in the blanks. Vest had appreciated being informed but he still wished he hadn't been left out at all.

"I'm sorry I'm not in the mood to hear anymore," Lennie finally said as he left the main studio and headed for the bustling hallway.

Antonio Vest nodded at an assistant who instantly made his way over to him.

"Keep monitor the news flow and see to it that we're keeping up. I want us to deliver and do it with style before anyone else does – do you understand?" he asked testily although his anger was not really directed toward the poor assistant.

"I'll see to it, sir," the young man promised.

Reluctantly Vest nodded and headed after Lennie.

"I'm sorry," Lennie said as his superior appeared in the doorway. "I guess it hit a bit too close to home this time."

Vest sighed and ran a hand through his thick black hair in frustration. "I suppose we're so focused on hunting for news and so used to dealing with them in a detached manner that we're no longer reflecting the lives of those it really affects. Everyday there are tragedies in the world, in this business we have to shut out our own feelings otherwise it would be overwhelming," he said.

Silence settled over the two men but when their eyes met it was in mutual understanding. They began to walk down the hallway toward Vest's office.

"How's Jeffrey doing?" Antonio finally managed.

"Thank heavens he's getting better," Lennie replied softly. "For a while there I doubted his chances of survival. The doctors told me it was touch and go. He hang in the middle for 48 hours before his condition stabilized."

Antonio's eyes darkened and he swallowed as he walked through the door with Lennie in tow.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vest for not letting you know earlier but-"

"Lennie, I don't blame you. You've had your hands full and, if I'm to be blunt, it could have been you in that hospital bed," Antonio countered seriously. "I'm just grateful you're still alive – all of you."

"It was awful," Lennie said solemnly. "He looked horrible, there was blood everywhere. And his wife and little daughter – they sat at his bedside crying."

Antonio said nothing as he sat down behind his desk but his dismay showed clearly in his face.

"Who would do such a thing?" Lennie asked, his voice raised and agitated. "We're just a bunch of reporters."

"I think the three of you have stumbled into something sinister, something bigger that we don't know about," Antonio said darkly. "How's Maggie doing?"

Lennie sighed in frustration. "I finally got her to take a nap and rest for a few hours. She's at my place, in the guestroom. I have a bad feeling about this. I think it's Maggie they were really after," he confessed.

Antonio nodded. "The infamous documents concerning Harrison Industries," he mused.

"I thought she'd gone crazy, that the crash had been too much for her. Then, the more I think about it the more it scares me, it's not as far-fetched as I first thought," Lennie said truthfully. "I've seen the documents, they are authentic there is no question about it. If they are made public Harrison Industries would face severe charges that would eventually bring the company down. I don't know what's going on behind closed doors but I do know that Doctor Kevin Harrison supposedly died sometime after the Concorde buried itself in the snow at the ski resort."

"He died of a stroke after a charity event?" Antonio stated curiously with a frown.

Lennie shook his head and began to pace. "I don't buy that. It's too much of a coincidence," he returned. "It's the way Carl Parker was eliminated in Maggie's apartment, the way Doctor Harrison told her about how Parker had tried to blackmail him."

"The man is rich, serves his country by contributing to our defenses. The guy is even highly associated with several charity organizations," Antonio reasoned. "Why would a man like Harrison take the risk of losing everything on a whim?"

"Who knows," Lennie said in exasperation. "Maybe someone _was_ blackmailing Doctor Harrison and cleverly disposed of him? Like I said; who knows what's going on back there."

"Suppose Doctor Harrison really was behind it," Antonio reasoned, still uncertain.

Lennie nodded. "Maggie is clever and she's got the right connections. She has the power to bring him down," he explained. "Harrison met her at the airport, he knew what aircraft she was to board and where she was heading. He rescheduled his Buzzard test-"

Antonio turned to stare at the man before him, his face a mask of shock and disbelief at the same time. "I don't like where this conversation is going," he said.

"Doctor Harrison reprogrammed the drone, he _hunted_ that aircraft down, his aim was to blow it out of the sky and claim it was an accident!" Lennie seethed angrily.

"You have no proof of that!" Antonio returned sharply.

"Do you know he would lose everything, even his freedom?" Lennie reasoned, having calmed down a bit. "He was obsessed with the idea of getting rid of her no matter the cost. He contacted an associate in France and hired a fighter jet to finish the job."

"Stop it Lennie, you're scaring me," Antonio said.

"It's all about contacts," Lennie returned simply with a shrug of his stiff shoulders. "His network is vast and he knows how to use it."

"Even if he did, that's not what eventually brought the Concorde out of the sky," The executive officer at the Nightly News reasoned. "Don't tell me Harrison arranged for that to happen as well. I'm not ready to accept it."

OOOOOO

Eli Sande ran a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing the oil stanched concrete floor at the large maintenance hangar. Tim Johnston watched him with a sigh and scratched the back of his neck.

"So you mean to tell me," Sande began angrily. "That our own Chief Engineer here in France tried to kill everyone on that flight?"

"It's a theory," Tim admitted reluctantly.

"Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?" the president of FWA fired back at him in disbelief.

"Think about it," Tim reasoned as he thoughtfully ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, his eyes downcast. "There is no other plausible explanation."

"Now hold on a minute. You said the maintenance on the Concorde was filed and signed correctly. They even wrote down extra notes in the marginal and photo documented the procedures," Sande said.

"Yes, I don't deny that," Tim said with a shrug. "It's almost like Froelich had expected his work to be investigated. I just – the point is, sir, that there is something here that doesn't make sense."

"Your damn right about that," Eli muttered angrily. "Have the investigators been here to check our logs?"

"They have expressed their interest to do so and so has the factory since Vice President Dalton tried to file an insurance claim toward the manufacturer," Johnston said pointedly.

"Do you know what that aircraft cost us?" Eli countered. "Do you know how long we had to fight to even be able to lease it?"

"Something tells me you're about to tell me," Tim returned calmly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Eli waved a hand at him and shook his head. "Not important," he said.

"There is something else," Tim said darkly as he turned his focus entirely on Mr. Sande. "I made an enquiry to the software developer that installed the interface for the locking mechanism. I wanted to know if it would be possible for a skilled engineer to tamper with the system and cause it to fail."

"What was their answer?" Eli asked curiously.

"That I wasn't the first one to ask that question," he said. "A request has been made from the safety board for the same type of information."

Eli harrumphed as he started to pace again. "And what does the police say about the money found on Froelich? Do they know where they came from or how he acquired it?" he asked.

"With all due respect, Mr. Sande," Tim began wearily. "I've had my hands full just to go through everything at our end and see to it that no errors have been done. It's not like the police would share that kind of information in the middle of an investigation anyway – at least not with the chief engineer at FWA."

The president of the company turned to look at him and a faint but sad smile crossed his lips. "I apologize for sounding so impatient and I know you have a lot on your plate, Tim. I'm sorry. I just want an end to this whole mess," he stated.

"Believe me when I say that you're not alone," Tim said and returned the smile. "If there wasn't something else you wanted me to have a look at I think I should head back to the States."

"Tired of France already?" Eli asked in amusement. "My wife suggested I'd stay a long time."

Tim sighed and shook his head tiredly. "Au contraire," he said with a tight smile. "I've enjoyed my stay here, although I wish the circumstances for my visit had been different. I'd tell you – that woman, Celine, that runs the office, she's quite something. I could have stayed longer just to see her but I had a pile of work on my desk when I left."

"I can have you stay just to oversee the employment of Froelich's successor," Eli suggested with a cunning smirk.

"I have to admit it's a very tempting offer, sir," Tim added with a chuckle.

OOOOOO

Gemma felt her anger rising as she spoke to the self-assured man behind the counter and it took all her willpower to stay polite. She fought back the tear threatening to spring from her eye at any moment and straightened where she stood in the lobby of the Harrison Industries Head Office.

"Let me get this straight," she said in a soft yet angry voice. "You deny me the right to go to my late husband's office?"

She could see the young man hastily look away for a moment as if unsure of how to act around her. Gemma suddenly felt very pleased with herself as she crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for his next move. He had certainly not anticipated to meet her and didn't know how she looked. He had obviously taken her for a nosy reporter. However, even if Gemma had been a reporter she would have told him he'd crossed the line.

"Mrs. Harrison," he finally managed with a plastered smile. "My apologies ma'am I didn't realize it was you."

She smiled back but it didn't reach her eyes, she didn't even bother keeping up appearances. "Now that you do, get out of my way, please," she said but her tone held no room for argument as she strode past him and into the elevator.

The administration clerk spared her a glance over his shoulder as he unconsciously started chewing on his bottom lip. He reached the desk in two long strides and picked up the phone. After only a few seconds, a gruff voice came on at the other end.

" _Yes,"_ the deputy director said.

"Sir, its James Guire at the front desk. We might have a problem," he said seriously.

" _Another one?"_ the deputy director replied sarcastically.

"Mrs. Harrison is on her way to Doctor Harrison's office," he explained.

" _She's mourning, she's not looking for documents. We'll leave her alone for now, that's the best thing. If we don't then she'll get suspicious,"_ he reasoned. _"Mrs. Harrison once helped her husband to start this company. You'll see to it that she gets everything she asks for. The main reason for coming here is probably just to see how the company has grown and to clear out his office. Call Willie Halpern and have him come to the late doctor's office, he's an old friend of the family. I am sure he can put her mind at ease."_

OOOOOO


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen – The Hard Truth**

Maggie Whelan sat in her car, glancing at the entrance, hoping to see the woman she'd seen in the lobby while on her way out. At first she'd thought she recognized the woman but couldn't place her but then she recalled a picture she'd seen in Doctor Harrison's office over a year ago. Although her hair color had changed there was no mistake about her identity; she was Kevin's wife.

Intrigued Maggie kept glancing in her rear-mirror and hastily jumped out of her car as Mrs. Harrison appeared to be leaving the building ten minutes later.

"Mrs. Harrison!" she said, hoping to catch her attention.

The woman turned around with a puzzled look on her face and frowned at the blonde woman who walked briskly toward her. She took in the weary appearance, the pale color of the skin, the somewhat haunted look in her eyes and the butterfly strips in the hairline next to her left temple.

"Yes," Gemma said in surprise.

"Mrs. Harrison, my name's Maggie Whelan. I'm a news anchor at the Nightly News," she said politely.

Gemma huffed and started walking. "Have they run out reporters to send?" she asked sarcastically. "I'm not interested in talking to you. Good bye Miss Whelan."

"No, please wait and hear me out," Maggie begged. "I need to know-"

Gemma turned to the new anchor. "What do you need to know?" she asked impatiently.

"Do you really believe that Kev-" she trailed off and quickly corrected herself. "-that Doctor Harrison died after a charity event in Switzerland?"

The doctor's wife narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Maggie for a moment. "What does it matter to you? The press has already fabricated a lot of lies about my husband I don't need another one, Miss Whelan," she said and tried to excuse herself.

"I'm only interested in the truth," Maggie blurted out. "I was onboard FWA flight 28 when it crashed in the Alps."

Gemma halted in mid-step and turned to look at her. "I'm sorry but I don't see how that's supposed to be connected with Kevin or Harrison Industries?"

"You don't know anything do you, Mrs. Harrison?" Maggie asked sadly.

"I don't think I like what you're implying," Gemma returned quickly as she fixed Maggie with her cold blue eyes.

Maggie chuckled mirthlessly at the statement. "No, you most likely will not, but I think you deserve to know; at least then you can decide what to do about it," she let on enigmatically.

Gemma looked uncertain for a moment, some of the chilliness was leaving her eyes.

"I –" Maggie began seriously as she leveled her eyes with the other woman's. "I'm not here as a reporter Mrs. Harrison. I'm here because I loved your husband. We had an affair."

Gemma's eyes widened in surprise. "How dare you," she whispered.

"A few days ago I was contacted by a man named Carl Parker, one of Kevin's employees. He didn't know about us, he came to me because I was a news anchor and had the power to do something he could not," she explained and paused for a moment.

The tension in the air was palpable as Maggie continued.

"He tried to tell me about the illegal business that Harrison Industries had been, and still was, involved in."

"That is outrageous!" Gemma protested fiercely. "Kevin would never do such a thing!"

"Parker was shot dead before me by a man sent from Harrison Industries and that man tried to kill me too," Maggie pressed on.

"Lies," Gemma whispered as tears glistened on her cheeks and she turned to go.

Maggie reached out to grab her arm and spun her around. "I don't need your hatred I need your help!" she said in frustration.

"You lie, you cheat on me with my husband. Now you need myhelp?" she asked in bewilderment. "I wonder what he ever saw in you!" She shouted in rage as she shook off the news anchor's hand.

When Maggie spoke again her voice was calm and cold. "Harrison Industries has performed flawlessly and brought in a lot of money on their legal business commitments but the illegal arms dealings in third world countries has made the company and Kevin rich. The documents delivered to me proves that and they are authentic."

"He would never hurt a fly," Gemma replied, her voice quivering slightly.

"Kevin was afraid that the documents would be publically known and that he would be brought before a court of justice. He sent the Buzzard drone after my plane. Do you think it was an accident?!" Maggie's voice rose with every world until she was nearly shouting in disbelief. "Do you think a drone with built in failsafe systems would suddenly veer off course and head for the Concorde all by itself? An airliner, which I might add, was well within the eastern air traffic corridors of Dulles."

Gemma chuckled nervously, unable to even consider the evil portraying of her husband that Maggie was painting for her. " _Kevin_ was a gentle man with a conscience, he devoted many hours to charity. He gave too much of himself, that's why he died prematurely," she explained calmly before her voice took on a more malicious tone that chilled Maggie to the bone. "Kevin is not a murderer, stop disgracing my husband. Get out of my sight, I'll never want to see you again!"

Maggie sighed and hung her head as she watched her deceased lover's wife leave the premises. She cast a worried look upon the main entrance of the building and shuddered before she headed back to her car to drive off.

OOOOOO

"Yes, thank you," Henri Davis said as he ended the call.

Line glanced up at him curiously.

"My contact at the local police department," Davis explained as he sat down next to her and eyed the reports in front of her. "Finding anything in there?"

Line shook her head. "No, as FWA's chief maintenance guy said, everything is signed and controlled according to the requirements made by the manufacturer," she said and closed the file handed over to them by the airline company. "Froelich and his team worked hard to get the aircraft flight worthy, there are no discrepancies anywhere."

"Froelich," Davis echoed thoughtfully.

Line raised a curious eyebrow at him.

"Think about it, Line. FWA's leading maintenance guy at the de Gaulle booked a flight to Bahamas. A man who according to the police had money problems. Unfortunately for him he died before he could escape the country, his pockets filled to the brim with money."

"You suspect he's got something to do with it? That approach would clear the factory and the software developers and instead cast a shadow over the airline company," Line deduced. "But why would they bring down their own aircraft – insurance?"

Davis shook his head. "No, Federation World Airlines are not involved. Their VP was onboard the aircraft as well. It's about something else – or someone else," he explained. "The FWA are just as clueless as we are at the moment. I just hope that the police can come up with something about the mechanic."

"He wasn't involved in the incident with the Buzzard drone," she mused.

Davis turned to his colleague. "You think it's even more intricate," he stated with a cocked eyebrow.

"Think about it Henri," she returned. "Why would the drone deviate from its course and target FWA's flight 28 specifically? Of all the aircraft's taking off from Dulles that day why the Concorde?"

He looked at her for a moment, contemplating her question and, although he'd found it outrageous at first, he couldn't seem to get rid of the idea that had formed in his head, that Harrison Industries was somehow connected to this mess. "Do you realize what you're implying?" he asked carefully.

"Did you watch the news yesterday?" she countered. "That news anchor at Nightly News, Maggie Whelan, apparently received some secret documents about Harrison Industries a while ago. She was onboard flight 28 when the incident with the Buzzard occurred. Some people do every kind of crazy things in order to protect their companies' interests. Then, not long after, she was involved in an explosion at Park Hotel."

"Okay, let's play with the thought for a second," Henri said. "If Doctor Harrison felt threatened by the woman he could have a motive but you just don't reprogram a drone like that."

"Harrison Industries have partners and associates in France. Doctor Harrison had the money to bribe Manuel Froelich," Line reasoned.

"That doesn't explain where the fighter plane came from or why the pilot tried to bring the airliner out of the sky," Henri mused.

"Another bribe," Line suggested casually with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You describe Doctor Harrison as a cold and calculating maniac when media usually describe him as a rich gentleman that likes to spend money on charity," the senior investigator said.

Line gave him a faint smile. "To quote Captain Metrand," she said. 'People change.'

Henri appeared thoughtful.

"Let's take another look at the cockpit voice recorder and hear what he said during the Buzzard incident," she suggested.

Henri shook his head sadly. "The CVR is a magnetic recorder and can only record a loop of 30 minutes before it starts all over again, erasing previous entries," he explained. "However, the flight data recorder would have recorded data for 25 hours, meaning that we can see what the aircraft did during the incident."

"Evasive maneuvers?" she stated sarcastically. "I don't see what good that would do."

"I guess you're right," he admitted. "It's up to the police to piece it together. Let's concentrate on our own reports about the accident."

OOOOOO

Technical engineer and design manager Willie Halpern looked gloomily down the straight and narrow corridor of level minus one at the Harrison Industries testing facility. The basement was painted in a light grey color that reminded him of a prison cell block. His expensive and brightly polished leather shoes created an eerie echo as he began to walk toward a group of highly decorated military officers who waited for him at the end of the long row of doors leading to various labs. He unconsciously swallowed and felt the urge to loosen his tie as he neared the group.

"Thank you for coming gentlemen," he said politely. "Welcome to subzero. This is where most of our advanced computerized tests are performed. I will not bore you with details you're not interested in nor will I discuss exactly what is going on behind closed doors."

"What went wrong?" One of the officers, a colonel, asked impatiently.

"We were under the impression that your drone was fool proof," added another man, this one dressed in a tailored suit sent from the Department of Defense.

"Even the most advanced things can fail," Willie said humbly with a fake smile.

"Them especially," muttered a third man.

"I'm glad this disaster happened on the trail run. Imagine what would have happened if it had been our drone," the colonel said.

"Imagine that aircraft had been a Russian," the man from the Department of Defense added sourly. "Damn thing could have started world war three."

"You have our written conclusions in the report that was sent to you early yesterday afternoon," Willie replied curtly as he led them into a large and spacious conference room.

"The ministry has decided against further conclusive tests by the military," the colonel said sternly. "We are to take your word of expertise that everything has been performed accurately. Surely you have too much to lose on this deal to falsify your conclusions about the incident?"

Willie looked offended as he turned squarely to the colonel and looked him straight in the eye. "Our engineers are proud people, the best there is to find when it comes to expertise," he said coldly. "Not to mention the fact that Harrison Industries would lose a considerable amount of money if the deal is to be called off."

"According to your report the Buzzard's guiding system was damaged and not accurately realigned. It caused a cascade of malfunctions in the onboard computer and lost the signal of its intended target. When contact was restored with the drone and the auxiliary systems were brought online the Buzzard locked on to the Concorde's engines," the DOD representative recited from the report. "Now, what I want to know is what kind of guarantee we have that the same thing won't happen again."

"I cannot give you any guarantees gentlemen," Willie let on. "I cannot give you more than a new perfectly flawless drone, an upgraded guiding system and three built in failsafe's. Also, I'd recommend that you stay clear of any crowded air corridors to avoid the risk of hitting a commercial airliner."

The colonel snorted.

"Officially, this deal ends right here," the Department of Defense representative said in a low voice as he stabbed a finger at Halpern's chest. "Unofficially, we are interested in version 2.0. We want you to present to us a new stable version of the attack drone and after that we'll make a stand whether to buy it or not."

"I see," Willie returned deadpan. "The development might take up to a year."

"We can wait if you can build a drone that follows the proper command it's given. We don't want to start a war, Mr. Halpern," the colonel said in a cold voice.

"Thank you, sir," the engineer replied with a faint nod.

OOOOOO


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen –** Reminiscing

Gemma Harrison was furious as she walked up the large paved path leading to the Harrison family house. She'd walked half the distance when she stopped to stare at the building. She wondered bitterly if the plain and simple façade that hid all the indoor luxury could be compared to their relationship. She wondered if people saw her and Kevin as the mysterious yet dashing couple on the outside and fantasized about their intricate troubles behind closed doors. The house was large but not overly so and didn't stand out among the rest. Instead it easily became invisible between the beautifully ornate buildings situated on each side of it. Their neighbors seemed to compete with each other when it came to decorations and luxury materials. Kevin had once, in his youth, lived sparsely in Africa and learned to keep the luxury inside to himself and not show off. In Africa it was common sense not to build flashy houses that would invite greedy thieves by telling them there was a fortune to steal inside.

Gemma huffed and chuckled at the irony of her musings. "What a simpleton you are," she muttered sullenly to herself and gently wiped the tears away from under her eyes.

She still couldn't believe that Kevin had something going on with that horrible, insensitive news anchor, Maggie Whelan. Gemma wasn't a complete fool. She knew Kevin had spent a lot of time away from her and probably had fed her a white little lie when it came to his whereabouts on more than one occasion but it still hurt to get the suspicions confirmed by someone else. And it was especially hurtful to hear it from a beautiful, bold younger woman while standing face to face. Gemma didn't know if that was the worst of it or if it was the fact that the woman had accused her husband of trying to kill everyone including herself on that supersonic flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

Maggie Whelan's words had violated her trust in Kevin and everything she believed in. However, she had to admit that there was something strange going on at the company too and she couldn't get her head around the fact that she had been talked out of seeing her husband one last time by their family doctor and common friend. He had looked at her sadly when she'd said she'd wanted to give Kevin one last goodbye and had more or less disallowed her to do so. He claimed Kevin had died of a stroke during a charity event in Switzerland. It had been nothing dramatic about it, it wasn't like he had been covered in blood or gore. Gemma knew Kevin was stressed out and that his blood pressure was high but she'd never imagined he'd die from it. With a sigh in frustration and confusion she walked up to the door and inserted the key. The door easily opened and she headed straight for the TV to put it on, just like she'd grown accustomed to do when alone at home, at least it gave her some company. She then headed into the kitchen to feed the cat.

" _We can now confirm that Harrison Industries has filed a report about the incident in which their military test drone deviated from its course and almost destroyed Federation World Airlines Concorde en route to France with several important passengers onboard,"_ the male news anchor said.

Gemma whirled around to face the TV at the mention of her husband's company and walked closer to it.

" _According to Harrison Industries spokesman Joshua Anderson, the drone was misguided from the control tower and several minor internal troubles led to a breakdown in the communication system. The incident luckily ended without any casualties. Rumors are that the military is still showing interest in the drone and its technology. However, further testing has been postponed until further notice,"_ the man reported.

" _Further rumors that the aircraft accident at the Swiss Alpine Resort would somehow be connected to the damage it sustained due to the skirmish with the Buzzard drone has been demented. FWA's Concorde did not crash because of the failed Buzzard test. Investigators are still working the case and nothing new has been revealed. Several passengers that we've been into contact with does say that the aircraft was fired upon even after the Buzzard drone had been destroyed. We've tried validate that statement from the French Air Force or FWA's personnel but neither has been interested to talk to us,"_ the news anchor finished.

Gemma let out a relieved sigh. 'Maggie Whelan must have got it all wrong', she thought and once again headed for the kitchen area. However she didn't get very far until doubts surfaced in her mind. There was something desperate in Maggie's voice, the way she said it, like she was convinced she was telling the truth. It involuntarily made Gemma search her memory and remember things Kevin had said and done that hadn't made any sense – until now.

He had gradually started to shield her from his business, told her she didn't need to worry, didn't need to help him at the office. He became more secretive about day to day work and after a good year he hired several new recruits in various fields of expertise almost on a whim. When she'd questioned him about it he'd simply waved her concern away and said that the company was expanding in the profitable weapons industry. She'd given her a piece of mind, telling him what she thought about weapons but he was adamant. After another few years he'd taken to charity, lots of it. At the time she'd thought nothing of it and shrugged it off as a way of easing his conscience. He claimed it was good PR for the company. Harrison Industries grew bigger and expanded rapidly over a short amount of time but Kevin had also started to work harder, both at the office and abroad to sell his merchandise.

She remembered when he got back from his second trip to Africa. He'd been devastated and his straight back was arching slightly, like he wanted to shrink and shy away. She'd asked what had happened but he'd just ignored her. When she'd given him a reassuring smile and said he could talk about everything with her he'd hesitated and then opened his mouth, like he wanted to tell her, but then he'd just as suddenly clammed up. He hadn't been himself for days. A calmer year followed and they found each other again, rediscovered each other, did things together. His work seemed to come in cycles with more or less work, more or less contracts. When he worked the hardest she'd worried about him, wondering if he could handle all the pressure. Kevin had always been a sensitive person, a kind person – not the type you'd usually thought to be an executive officer in a large business. However, coming to think about it, he'd gradually changed over the years; it had been subtle changes, so small that she hadn't really noticed until it was too late.

The last year he'd started to travel and work late a lot but she'd thought nothing about it at first. He'd bought her presents and told her how beautiful she was, how lucky he was to have her. It sometimes felt like he was compensating her for something. She knew now that he'd spent those late nights with Maggie Whelan. She clearly remembered the day before the scheduled Buzzard test, the same day as the unfortunate incident with the supersonic aircraft. He'd been tense and irritated, he'd shouted at her for no reason and complained of a headache. She'd been concerned for him but figured it had to do with the exclusive deal he was to make with the military and she knew his days was filled with various meetings and other scheduled activities that added to his already stressed living.

She suddenly felt sick as she realized Kevin had fooled her a long time and she hadn't seen it. However, she'd known him for so many years that she refused to believe he was a cold bloodied murderer. Gemma thought back at the meeting with Maggie Whelan. The woman looked haunted, she was pale and injured, although her eyes had been clear, almost pledging with Gemma to believe her statement. Why would a respectable news anchor feed her a bunch of lies? She mulled over the possibility that there was something more going on that she wasn't privy to know about. If Kevin had managed to have secret little meetings with a mistress without her suspecting much of it what else had he left out from her? She shook her head and blamed her confusion on her vivid imagination and too many nights in front of the TV. Gemma calmly gave her black cat a fresh portion of salmon and disposed of the tin can. Turning around she caught sight of the letter confirming Kevin's cremation and hesitated for a moment but then something in her sparked and with determination she headed for the door with the car keys in a tight grip. Something told her she had to see her husband one last time.

OOOOOO

Sanna Daniels sighed in relief as her father came through the door. "Dad, there you are. I tried to phone you at the office. Maggie drove off and she hasn't returned," she said worriedly.

Lennie froze, a chill running down his spine. "Thanks Sanna. I'll take a look at her apartment," he said and hugged his daughter gently before he turned to leave again.

However, he only made it out in the garden before a taxi drove up outside the gate and a very familiar woman walked out, paid for the ride and turned toward him.

"Where have you been?" he asked accusingly, his voice tight with concern.

"Harrison Industries," she said simply, her voice cold as she walked past him.

He stared after her as he made for the entrance door of his house. "Are you out of your mind?" he hollered.

She whirled around in anger and stabbed a finger at him as he neared. "Why did you think it was a good idea to hide the fact that Kevin died not long after crash?" she asked. "You thought I couldn't handle it? That poor Maggie would break apart?"

"I wanted to spare you the pain," he said simply, avoiding to look her in the eyes.

Her fierce reply died on her lips and she softened a little.

"The moment I heard about it I tried to find out what happened. It's a lot of hush hush about Harrison's death, Maggie," Lennie said cautiously. "After a lot of digging by the news division back at Nightly News and the use of our contacts back in France and Switzerland I've finally found out that he supposedly died of a stroke the same day as your plane crashed in the Alps."

Maggie frowned. "Antonio lend you all those resources?" she wondered aloud.

"No, I took the liberty of using them and they volunteered. Those guys are amazing Maggie but even they had trouble researching the good doctor's death," Lennie replied. "Harrison Industries asks for us to let their founder rest in peace and reveals nothing news worthy and his wife is nowhere to be found."

"I don't know about that," Maggie returned and pursed her lips into a thin line of displeasure as she turned to walk into the house.

"Why? What happened at the company?" Lennie asked as he followed her through the front door and into the living room.

Sanna glanced at them over her shoulder from where she sat in the sofa, watching the news.

"I met Gemma Harrison in person," Maggie let on smugly.

"And?" Lennie pressed.

"I told her I'd slept with her husband," she said simply.

"You what?" the science reporter asked.

"Amongst other things. Let's just say that she didn't take it that well," she admitted.

"How hard did you hit your head?" he finally said in disbelief.

Maggie ignored him and turned to watch the TV intently as if to make sure she didn't miss anything out. The news anchor reported about a radical group that had taken responsibility for a shooting in downtown Washington and several minutes were reserved for that terrible crime where psychologists and a researcher on human behavior tried to explain to her and the general population why this crime had succeeded and the police bared the brunt of a massive critique together with the intelligence sector. The news hour seemed more diverse than ever. She grimaced as she began to work out the kinks in her back, her attention wavering thorough the various news. Then a name caught her interest and she returned her full attention at the TV.

" _We have taken part of a freshly made report from the Concorde factory in Toulouse, France. The investigators at the scene of the accident and the internal investigators at the factory has come to the conclusion that the flight crew was not to blame for the accident and calls their landing a heroic deed given the severity of the situation caused by the opened cargo hatch,"_ the news anchor said.

Maggie broke into a smile as a slide of pictures taken from the accident and the factory was run behind the news anchor. The final picture showed a photo of Captain Metrand helping Captain Patroni out of the aircraft.

" _The investigators writes in the report that it is impossible for the cargo hatch to open mid-flight by itself. Several tests at the factory and at the supplier of the part confirms that theory. The technological department that is responsible for the programming of the aircraft suspects that the cargo door in question had been tampered with so that the handle would open by a remote command,"_ she reported seriously, shoveling her papers around.

Maggie suddenly shivered at the thought of someone rigging what could have been a fatal accident. 'Why would anyone do such a thing and how?' She mused.

" _There is no question about what caused the aircraft to start breaking apart in the air. The police and flight investigators are not keen to divulge further into the crash with the press at the moment but reassures us that they have leads that could further shed some light about what really lies behind the crash-landing in Switzerland."_

OOOOOO


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen – Fingers Crossed**

Henri Davis walked into one of the larger, spacy buildings next to the main terminal of the de Gaulle airport to find the Arman Clou, the man in charge of the pilot training center and simulator testing.

The lobby was bustling with activity and several newly promoted first officers walked by him, chatting expectantly on their way toward the testing area. He walked up to the receptionist and was pointed in the direction of the manager's office. As he took the elevator to the third floor he was joined with two seasoned captains who seemed to be on their way to a meeting.

The investigator exited the elevator and began to walk down the corridor and recognized many of the names next to the office doors he was passing. He was in luck and found the door open and the manager just inside, on his way to something.

"Mr. Clou," Henri said politely as he knocked gently on the door frame to make his presence known.

"Ah, yes," the man clad in an impeccable suit acknowledged as he shuffled some papers on his desk and turned toward the door. "Mr. Davis, I heard you were on your way."

"What have you got for me?" the investigator asked curiously.

"I had the telemetry put into the simulator to replicate the conditions that the pilots on FWA flight 28 was faced with. Just for the fun of it I decided to give ten different captains the task of landing the aircraft safely. I might add that since it's a supersonic aircraft with a delta wing it has entirely different capabilities than a regular airliner. It took me some time to find a variety of certified officers, correlate their flying schedules and have them report here," the manager said as he motioned for Davis to head out in the corridor.

"I see," Davis remarked as he followed Clou to the elevator.

They stood in silence for a moment in the car, then Clou turned to the investigator and shook his head. "No one made it," he said and handed over a folder.

Before Davis could reply the elevator pinged and doors opened on the tenth floor. Clou once again took the lead through various corridors until they ended up at the testing center.

"Out of ten certified pilots you mean to tell me that not a single one of them landed the aircraft safely?" the investigator asked skeptically, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"That's exactly what I said," Clou, the former military air force advisor, stated.

Davis made a face.

"Luckily none of them flew it," Cloud added.

"Why?" Davis asked curiously.

"It's all in the report," Clou replied. "If I'm to summarize it for you. Several of the pilots didn't have the creativity or the luck to find a snowfield and crashed into a mountain. Two tried to reach the suggested airport – Innsbruck International. They didn't make it. Another tried to glide the aircraft to safety but misjudged the enormity of the damage that the aircraft had sustained. One captain was taken completely by surprise by the whole thing. The only one that came close to do what Captain Metrand managed was the test pilot currently employed at the factory but he sat down the plane a little too hard and since the structural damage to the airliner was already straining on the hull it broke into several pieces – no one would have walked out of that plane alive."

Davis nodded, digesting the information as Captain Clou turned to him. "My apologies, I'll have to leave you. I'm scheduled to talk in front of a class of newbies before they'll be trying out the simulator," he said and then added. "If I were you I'd shake that man's hand. He's one hell of a pilot. If there is anyone to blame for the loss of the supersonic it's certainly not him, or his co-pilot."

Davis nodded with a quirk at the arrogant old pilot who turned on his heels to stride down the corridor. He was surprised when Clou suddenly turned around to face him once more with a smug look on his face.

"You're a little late Mr. Davis," Clou said. "The media reported that Captain Metrand and Captain Patroni are free of suspicions and that they performed flawlessly under the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the flight."

OOOOOO

Gemma Harrison hesitated at the door and began to question whether or not she really wanted to see her husband one more time but then she gathered herself, exhaled slowly and headed through the large double door to the mortuary.

"Excuse me ma'am," an older man clad in a doctor's white coat said as he walked up to her. "This is a restricted area."

"I…I've come to say goodbye to my late husband," she managed unconvincingly.

The medical examiner nodded as he straightened his glasses on his sharp nose. "I offer you my condolences," he said politely with a sympathetic look. "To lose loved ones are never easy."

"I suppose I should have come earlier, perhaps he's not even here anymore," she blurted out, her eyes downcast. "I've been told not to see him but I think I have too."

Somehow the old doctor's presence made her calm, he appeared stern yet lighthearted and his grey hair spoke of a lifetime of experience with the deceased and their relatives.

Suddenly realizing she hadn't told him her name Gemma reached out to shake his hand. "My apologies for not introducing myself properly," she said. "Gemma Harrison."

The doctor raised a curious eyebrow as he returned the handshake. "William Toll, lead medical examiner," he said as he started to lead the way toward an adjoining room. "Your husband presented

us with a mystery there for a while."

"How so?" she wondered aloud and shivered as she walked deeper into the mortuary.

He said nothing as he located her late husband and gently opened the door to pull the cartridge out.

No matter how much she'd tried to steel herself for the moment of seeing his lifeless body she still wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted her and she raised her hand to her mouth and gasped.

The doctor eyed her with concern. "They are never a pretty sight, Mrs. Harrison, especially not those who've shoot themselves point blank in the head."

"No," she whispered as she felt her knees go week.

The doctor gently steadied her and led her away from the deceased. He steered her in the direction of a chair and pushed her into it.

She forced herself to take a deep breath as he walked back into the room where Kevin's body was being kept and she heard the door close, figuring the doctor had put the body back into its temporary resting place.

"I don't understand," she whispered as the man came back into the room. "Our family doctor told me Kevin died of a stroke."

The doctor frowned. "Well his brain did go haywire but not because of a stroke," he said.

"Lies," she mumbled, her voice quivering. "More lies."

"Look, Mrs. Harrison. I think you've had quite a shock. Why don't I close up here for a moment and walk you over to the cafeteria and talk this true," he suggested kindly.

OOOOOO

Joseph Patroni was nervous. He hadn't been that in such a long time that he'd forgotten the horrible dread it caused. His palms were slick as he got out of the cab just outside the large hospital building in Washington. Disgusted he gently brushed off the perspiration on his trousers, straightened his shoulders and walked into the building. The hospital's main entrance was bustling with activity as usual as he stopped just inside the doors, anonymous to the crowd in the waiting area, clad in a black costume and a light grey shirt that was accented with a deep green tie. The last time he'd visited a real hospital, not a practice, was the year before when he'd said goodbye to his wife. To him the word hospital triggered a feeling of doom, a knot in his stomach. This day didn't sit well with him either. It was the D-day, the day when his fate would be decided by someone else.

He dreaded coming to the doctor more than he'd dreaded the flight accident several weeks before. The accident he'd fooled himself to believe he had control over but the man clad in a white medical coat was as unpredictable as the lightning. Joseph was old now, he'd even felt old the last few days as he'd glanced at himself in the mirror, staring at the white haired man with a few crow sparks too many around his eyes. He drank only occasionally nowadays and he'd give in to a Cuban cigar now and then but that was it. Flying had always been important to him and he'd been doing it for so long that he didn't know what to do when he would be forced to quit. Without his wife and child there was no one waiting for him back home, no one to talk to.

"Can I help you, sir?" A soft spoken young nurse asked politely with a warm smile as she walked up to him, breaking his negative train of thoughts.

He frowned for a moment and then gave her a nervous chuckle before harrumphing. "Actually, I have an appointment with Doctor Mahoney," he said.

She nodded at him and mentioned for him to follow her to the nurse's station or administration desk. She quickly confirmed the appointment and smiled at him. "Captain Joseph Patroni?" she asked, this time with a slight awe in her voice.

He smirked. "Yes, that's right," he acknowledged.

"I thought I'd seen you somewhere," she returned to Joe's chagrin. "Please come with me, I'll take you to his office."

"There is no need," he began humbly.

"For a man who miraculously saved over hundred people I'd be honored too," she returned.

"I think it's my colleague you should say thank you to," Joe finished. "I was just the passenger with the best seat."

"You're being modest, Captain Patroni," the nurse said, the tone in her voice made it clear she didn't really believe him. "If it makes you feel any better, I was heading in the same direction as you."

They shared a laugh and stepped into the elevator.

OOOOOO

Isabelle Delé walked the old sweeping sidewalk in the posh suburban neighborhood with a nervous stance. She eyed the old trees canting the pavement, dividing it from the driving lane. She had walked the path many times before but it felt different today; it was different today. She held in her hand a large cabin bag that dutifully rolled on its small wheels behind her. With a shaky breath she stopped at the front gate of one of the old houses and glanced up at the masterful yet picturesque building. Her hand trembled as she reached for the beautifully decorated Iron Gate and gently opened it. Clad in her favorite white blouse and tight narrow jeans matched with a pair of high heels she continued through the tidy garden and up the worn stone steps to the wooden front door. Isabelle hesitated before reaching out to knock. It felt like she was about to intrude, like she didn't belong in such a neighborhood yet she couldn't wait but to settle in. Some part of her still prepared to be rejected and given the cold shoulder as she couldn't believe that they were finally moving in together; or more precisely that she was moving in with Paul, the handsome flight captain who caught most women's attention. Caught up in a reverie about him, as the hopeless romantic she was, she jumped as the door suddenly opened.

Paul Metrand gave her a warm, genuine smile as he appeared clad in marine slacks and a tight V-necked t-shirt that only accented his good looks. "Isabelle," he greeted happily. "There you are. I have been waiting for you. I was afraid you'd changed your mind."

"Changed my mind?" she echoed with a frown as she leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "Never, Monsignor. It's Je'Taime, Paul."

He chuckled and to Isabelle's surprise he sounded nervous as he took her bag from her.

"I hope you still say that after a year or so," he said humbly with a faint smile as he glanced over his shoulder toward her.

Isabelle suddenly laughed. "What happened to the cocky, self-assured captain I used to know?" she teased as she began to follow him inside and slid her arms around his middle, stopping him from walking any further.

"You do know me, Isabelle," he answered as he gracefully turned around in her grip. "I'm not good at relationships."

She glanced up at him as they stood pressed against one another and she breathed in his soft cologne. "I know what I'm getting," she finally said as she exhaled slowly and kissed him passionately. "I _do_ know you, Paul. I won't walk away and I won't let you walk away either."

He couldn't help but to smile as he stared into her sparkling eyes and leaned forward to kiss her again. When they parted he nodded inside. "Well, welcome home then," he said.

OOOOOO


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen – Doubts**

Joseph Patroni was positive for the first time in days as he bid the old and stern doctor good bye. The man had been an absolute pain in the ass, prodding him, poking him, admonishing him for his slight overweight but in the end the man had even smiled and cracked a joke to Joe's surprise. He'd been there to leave tests at the beginning of the week and the doctor had been satisfied with his vitals and test results. They'd shared some old war stories and then the doctor had nodded and turned serious again. At that moment, fearing the worst, Joe's heart almost stopped but then the man opposite him had told him that he was clear for another year of flying and that the accident had left no permanent means to him. Had the doctor been a woman he would have kissed her, now he settled for shaking the man's hand vigorously.

He nodded at the nurse who'd helped him when he walked by the administration desk and winked at her. Then he stepped out in the sun, his steps lighter than they'd been in weeks. He hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to his house. Joseph Patroni had never been a patient man so when he'd paid for the taxi he quickly dialed the office to let them know he was ready for duty. The only thing he regretted was that he wouldn't be able to fly with the little Frenchman again. He hadn't seen Paul Metrand for over a month and missed the guy, strange considering they hadn't been very acquainted before the accident. He just hoped that Paul was okay and that he'd continue to fly for the company. He knew Paul had hurt himself in the crash more than he'd let on to the others in the crew, he'd seen him up at the front covered in snow unresponsive for a short while. At that time Joe had hesitated for a moment, torn between helping his fellow captain and calm down the panicked passengers in the back. He felt a little guilty for seeing to the passengers even though he knew that was his responsibility – to aid the cabin crew when they'd landed. He'd let out a sigh of relief later on when he'd seen Paul make his way out of cockpit with a dour expression on his face but alive nevertheless.

OOOOOO

Flight Attendant Joanna Jones sighed in resignation and worked the kinks out of her back before ending up in front of the mirror in her single room at the fashionable hotel next to LAX.

She'd taken a national flight as her first tour after the so called incident over a month ago. The preflight check of everything in the cabinets had gone without a hitch and she'd been busy in the cabin serving the passengers, doing some small talk with her new colleagues and so on. A few hours into the flight the ride had started to get rough and suddenly all the memories of the ill-fated flight 28 had caught up with her and caused her to panic. The supervising stewardess had been kind to her and told her to sit down for a while and strap herself in. Joanna had nodded meekly and followed her suggestion. When the aircraft had landed at LAX the rest of the cabin crew had been concerned for her but she soon realized that none of them really understood what she'd been through. She missed her friends at FWA and various destinations abroad she'd visited with the company. Joanna ignored her gut feeling and forced herself to work at the national airline for another few weeks until she had exhausted herself and cried herself to sleep one night too many. That's when she realized that she had to go back, back to her friends and colleagues. That she couldn't hide from reality and that she had to face and accept the trauma she'd suffered. The accident and the experience she'd gotten from it wouldn't go away and the nightmares wouldn't leave her alone just because she started anew somewhere else.

It was with certainty that flight attendant Joanna Jones reached for the phone and asked to be connected to Federation World Airlines' office back in Washington.

OOOOOO

It had been three days since Gemma had visited her late husband at the mortuary but she was still shocked at the revelation and in rage when considering the fact that their common friend and family doctor had lied to her. She'd called the police and raised havoc amongst the ranks of officers until she found the lead investigator of the case. They'd had a long and serious conversation over the phone. She'd demanded to be brought into the loop and insisted someone had tried to get rid of Kevin. However, the investigator presented her another picture, one that was strangely familiar with some of what Maggie Whelan had told her.

Gemma had asked him tersely if he believed that the Buzzard drone had purposely tried to ram the airliner but he'd clammed up saying he couldn't give her facts about an ongoing investigation. It was then she realized that there was more going on behind the façade of Harrison Industries than met the eye. It both enraged and intrigued her to the extent that she'd decided to seek out Maggie Whelan.

The news anchor hadn't been too hard to find considering she'd been spotted in the area of a colleagues house. It was not without unease that Gemma Harrison parked on the street around the corner of Lennie Daniel's house and headed for the main entrance. She rapidly knocked three times on the wooden door, her expression grim as she waited for it to be open.

The door opened a minute later to reveal a young and slim woman in her early twenties with long brown hair.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a frown, studying the well-dressed woman standing on the porch.

"You can tell me where to find Maggie Whelan," Gemma returned brusquely.

"Mrs. Harrison?" a voice asked from inside and the moment later the blonde news anchor appeared in the doorway. Maggie beamed at Lennie's daughter. "It's okay Sanna," she said and gently ushered the younger woman away. She then refocused on the wife of her lover. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"I think it's time you and I had a talk," Gemma answered with all the politeness she could muster.

Maggie nodded and hollered to Sanna that she would be going out for a while and then closed the door behind her. "Something is bothering you," Maggie stated.

Gemma chuckled without mirth. "A lot of things are bothering me," she corrected. "You are one of them but let's see beyond our differences for a moment."

They studied each other for a moment both weary of the other.

"Did you kill him?" Gemma finally managed.

"What?" Maggie asked in astonishment. "He died of a stroke, you said so yourself."

A tense silence settled over the two women.

"Listen, I don't know what lies you've been told but you're barking up the wrong tree. He duped me and he tried to get me killed. It was definitely not the other way around," Maggie protested.

"Why should I trust you?" Gemma asked.

"You want to believe me," Maggie guessed. "Why else are you here?"

"I'm interested in the truth, nothing else," Gemma returned in a tight voice.

"Good, let's find it then, together," Maggie suggested simply.

Gemma looked away for a moment suddenly unsure of what to do. "Kevin-" she began softly. "Kevin didn't suffer a stroke."

Maggie looked at her intently, eagerly waiting for her to continue.

"He died from a gun shoot wound to the head," she explained, her voice detached. "The officer in charge of the investigation tells me it was a suicide. But I don't understand why a wealthy man with money and a loving family would do such a thing."

"I have something you should see," Maggie said cryptically and reached into a leather satchel she'd grabbed inside the door before she went outside. "These are photocopies of the documents Carl Parker told me about. His wife delivered them to me just before I boarded the Concorde."

Gemma gently took them in her hand and watched the news anchor skeptically for a moment.

"Go on, look at them," Maggie urged.

Gemma's mood sank as she skimmed through the copies. It was all there, Kevin's handwritten signature, the dates correlated to the trip's he'd taken to Africa and South America. "No," she whispered.

"I had a hard time believing it myself," Maggie admitted.

"This is not the Kevin I knew," Gemma said seriously.

"Maybe they forced him," Maggie suggested. "Then when they had no need for him anymore they disposed of him."

Gemma shuddered at Maggie's suggestion but shook her head sadly. "No one forces Kevin to do anything," she let on. "He might have been a charming and benign man but when it came down to business-"

"What do you know about the Buzzard?" Maggie asked softly.

"Not much," Gemma admitted. "He gradually shielded me from the company until I had no insight left at all. I figured he needed to run it his way and I let him do so."

"You worked together?" Maggie asked in surprise.

Gemma nodded. "At first. I'm a civil engineer. We founded the company together," she answered.

They talked at length, discussing different theories until late at night and decided to meet up again.

OOOOOO

Across the Atlantic Ocean Captain Paul Metrand annoyingly reached for the alarm clock next to the bed, turned it off and stuck his head under the pillow. Within seconds a pair of petite hands sneaked around his upper body from behind him, eliciting a smile on his lips. Wordlessly he gently turned around and came face to face with Isabelle.

"Come on now, sleepy head," she said playfully as she blinked her tired eyes fully open. "It's a big day today."

Paul groaned. "No, it's one of those days you'd wish you'd never got up," he whispered tiredly.

"Why, my dear captain, do I detect nervousness?" she asked teasingly.

He sighed and raked a hand through his unruly brown hair as he let his head sink back in the fluffy pillow. "No, Isabelle," he let on seriously. "I just don't like hospitals, waiting rooms, needles and stern looking doctors."

She stretched lazily in bed and then got up, wrapping a gown around her sleek body as she went around the bed to drag him out of it. "You'll sail through the medical examination. There is no reason for you not too," she said as she took his hand and gently pulled him upright. "Unless there is something you're not telling me?"

Paul shook his head, a faint smile appearing on his lips as he got up. "I assure you, there is nothing wrong with me, Isabelle," he said.

"Then what's bothering you?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes, unable to tear them away from his lean and muscular torso.

"I-" he sighed. "I don't know. I've been thinking a lot lately. With everything that's been going on, I don't know-"

"Don't know what?" she asked softly.

"What if I can't handle what they throw at me in the simulator testing? What if I can't fly anymore?"

Isabelle stared at him, not knowing what to say to the normally confident man before her. "Who are you and what have you done with Paul?" she finally managed.

He laughed, a little nervously, at her statement. Then, when he looked up at her, she could see the steady resolve and the determination behind the blue eyes.

"I'll do my best of course," he said at length, the normal cockiness back in his voice.

It was then Isabelle knew that everything would be just fine. "I'm sure you can do anything but please take one thing at a time. If you need me I'll be right beside you," she offered.

He snorted. "Serves me right if you're not. I remember leaving you behind," he said regretfully.

"That's in the past, Paul," she said with an undertone of sadness. "I'll never leave you. I can't leave you. I need you. I love you."

"I love you too, Isabelle," he said confidently, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned over to kiss her.

OOOOOO


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen – All Our Yesterdays**

Gemma shivered as the chilly morning air embraced her. She tightened the wool coat around her petite body and donned a pair of red leather gloves before she headed for the entrance of Harrison Industries. She walked resolutely at a brisk pace and reached the lobby within a minute.

A young woman greeted her with a soft smile as she walked up to the desk. "Good morning Mrs. Harrison. Is there something I can do for you?" she asked kindly.

"I'm heading to Kevin's office for a while. I thought I had it sorted out but for some reason I want to take one last look," she reasoned.

"It's understandable," the clerk said. "If you do need anything, don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you," Gemma returned and headed for the elevator.

As the good looking woman had disappeared Willie Halpern walked out of the office just inside the receptionist's desk and watched the empty lobby. He turned to Annie, the young woman who'd greeted Mrs. Harrison good morning.

"Don't tell anyone she's here," he cautioned. "I'll take care of it."

OOOOOO

Joseph Patroni took one last look in the mirror and smiled as he adjusted his uniform tie and chipped his hat. This was it, he was off to see the world again. He'd managed to get hold of Captain George Paxton, an old fox and a friend coming from the military who'd flown regularly for the company Joe had worked for earlier as the vice president. He knew Paxton would be flying an empty 747 in transit over the seas after a long overhaul in Washington and he had a few favors to call in.

Captain Paxton, a man in about the same age if not a little older with a lean body and a mop of silver gray hair was inspecting the aircraft visually, feeling on the nose gear as Joe's taxi drove up to the 747, standing outside FWA's hangar at the end of the row of company hangars at Dulles.

Paxton whistled as Joe got out of the cab and adjusted his uniform jacket. "Well, long time no see," he said.

Joe chuckled. "That can mean a multiple of things, George," he replied.

Paxton shook his head and smiled back. "I don't think I've seen you in a commercial flight uniform for ages. How long did you work as Vice President back at Columbia?" he asked curiously. "And what in heaven's name made you take up flying again, Joseph?"

Joe laughed. "Life changed, George. I was prepared to step down, to stay on the ground and spend time with my family. After a year my wife was killed in a car accident and my son decided to study several states away to become a doctor," he said somberly. "Come to think about it I've never really liked being grounded. You know me, always trying to learn something, try something new. Heck, I even worked as a flight engineer for a while after stepping down from the air force. Then I took up flying again and flew some commercial planes. I got bored of shuttling passengers across the ocean and was offered the position as the VP of the company."

"I know I worked there too, remember," George said.

"Yeah, you did. I saw you occasionally. Every time I tried to call you up for a drink you'd left the country."

"Your timing really sucked," Paxton concurred with a wry grin before changing subject. "Was it so boring to be the VP? I'm sure it was a challenge with everyone you had to satisfy and coordinate with."

"After the death of my wife my life temporarily lost meaning and when I got back to work I rushed around like crazy and it felt like I was the errand boy. When I got home after a tiresome day there was no one waiting for me, no one to talk too, it drove me crazy. I heard a rumor that FWA was buying a supersonic aircraft and figured I'd certify for flying it. It was a long time since you and I flew fighter jets, George, and flying a Concorde would be the closest thing I'd get to fly those fast jets again."

"A shame it crashed," Paxton said ruefully.

"It was sabotaged, George," Joe returned darkly. "The Concorde is a technical marvel, one of the greatest aircrafts that's ever been built."

Paxton harrumphed.

"Look, I've never really got a chance to ask, and that is probably my own fault for shutting everyone out after Helen died, but what made you leave Columbia and apply at FWA?" Joe asked curiously.

"Well, let's just say that I didn't see eye to eye with the lovely chief pilot back there," he let on cryptically.

"Allan Murdock, or Captain Blige as some of the younger first officers called him," Joe stated amusedly. "I didn't find him so difficult to deal with. In fact I actually liked the guy. He softened a bit when he finally hooked up with that flight attendant, Nancy."

Paxton snorted.

"He's a cunning, crafty son of a bitch. He did land that ill-fated 747 safely after being winched down to it in mid-air from a helicopter," Joe reasoned. "I'd never even consider attempting such a thing despite the fact that my wife and kid was on that plane."

"You're too fat, you'd get stuck in the hole," George said with a wry grin.

Joe laughed. "Murdock is a good pilot. He might like to get what he wants and demands a bit too much at times but-"

"He is a good pilot," Paxton concurred. "Still, that's not what I was saying. As a chief pilot he didn't leave much room for the rest of us," Paxton implied. "I like this company much better."

Joe smirked. "You're of the same kind. I bet the younger captains at FWA calls you Captain Blige," he said amusedly.

George waved a hand at him with a wry smirk. "Enough of that, Joseph, unless you want me to pick up my scheduled first officer," he said pointedly.

"Nope, I'm going with this aircraft even if I have to sit in the back," Joe said flashing him a toothy grin, slapping him on the back before venturing up the stair and into the aircraft.

When Joe had disappeared into the aircraft, George chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Think you can handle such a modest and sturdy airplane?" he hollered after the other American veteran.

"Keep that up and I'm taking your seat," came the instant reply, the voice light and teasing.

OOOOOO

Gemma cursed as she was unable to break the combination of the safe. She'd tried everything she could think of but it refused to reveal its secrets for her. She'd carefully sorted out his desk and gone through documents that, while interesting to read, revealed nothing about his last thoughts or what drove him to commit suicide.

She froze as there was a soft knock on the door but relaxed as Willie Halpern popped his head through the door.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked kindly.

"Not at all," she said jovially and sighed as she leaned back in her husband's comfortable leather chair.

He smiled hesitantly as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

"How's it going with the Buzzard?" she asked curiously, trying to appear casual and relaxed.

Willie sighed. "It looks like the military will be willing to give it another chance," he let on somberly. "Kevin and I have worked so hard with that thing."

"I know you have," Gemma said. "Still I can't understand why it veered off course? I know you. You're a proud yet careful programmer. I've read parts of the report but surely-"

"Everyone makes mistakes," he answered cryptically, his voice cold, like he was defending his own actions. "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Gemma nodded and turned to look at him in the eye. "I'm sure Kevin would have been delighted to hear that," she said. "I suppose I should have seen something was wrong before he left. I could have stopped him from leaving and attend that charity event. Perhaps then he wouldn't have suffered a stroke."

"There is no need to blame yourself, Gemma," Willie said softly, his voice comforting. "We both know that when Kevin has set his mind on something he sticks to it no matter what."

"Yes," she said solemnly, "That's what I was afraid of."

He frowned in confusion at her words.

"Let's stop playing this charade, Willie. I am tired of games," she said coldly, her blue eyes boring into him. "We both know that Kevin committed suicide and that he spent his last night in the arms of Maggie Whelan."

Willie was momentarily taken aback by her harsh and bitter tone but quickly gathered himself. "Gemma, please. I don't know who told you that but it's ridiculous. He would never do something like that. He had too much to live for."

"Stop it Willie," she returned coldly in an even voice devoid of emotions. "I agree I was surprised, downright shocked, when I saw him. It's not like Kevin to give up, something caught up with him."

"You know Kevin as well as I do, Gemma," Willie reasoned.

"You know, I thought I knew him but now I'm not so sure anymore," she replied calmly. "You're a longtime friend of the family, Willie. What really happened?"

"What good would it do if you knew?" he whispered hollowly unconsciously flexing his fingers. "Let it rest, let the past be left in the past."

Gemma snorted. "The past," she drawled. "The past have a tendency to sneak up on you."

Willie slowly walked over to the large window behind Kevin's desk and stared out over the gloomy parking lot.

"What he did was wrong, Willie," she whispered. "I've seen the documents."

He closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "Don't go there, Gemma," he begged her wearily.

"My goodness, all those trips abroad," she said, ignoring his remark. "He sentenced people to death."

Willie said nothing, there was nothing he could say to make it right.

"But it doesn't stop there does it?" she asked bitterly and watched him tense.

He cleared his throat. "Gemma," he began.

"How long have we known each other, Willie?" she asked.

He continued to stare out through the window, unable to face her. "I can't even remember," he whispered.

She followed his gaze and saw the rain starting to pour from the ominous sky. "I wish it could wipe it all away. As in the fairytale my mama used to read me," she said.

"He might have been a bit eccentric at the end," Willie finally managed. "The company was his brainchild."

"He already had a family. He gave me three adorable girls," Gemma returned. "They loved their father but he obviously only cared about money and power. I was a fool who didn't see that."

Willie swallowed as he finally turned to look at her.

She gestured around her. "This company is nothing but a shell, a façade that's cracking in its seams. Just like our marriage apparently was at the end," she finished bitterly.

"He loved you," Willie said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

"Tell me one thing, Willie, and give me a truthful answer," she said. "Was it an accident that the Buzzard veered off course?"

He shook his head. "Has someone told you otherwise?" he said purposely answering her question with a question of his own. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"That's all I wanted to know," Gemma said dejectedly as she read between the lines and felt the hair rise at the back of her neck, suddenly afraid of the man before him and what he could do. She slowly rose from the chair and began to walk toward the door. "Goodbye, Willie."

OOOOOO


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen – Interlude**

He glanced at his wristwatch and cursed under his breath as he stood waiting for the cab outside his large house. His gloved hands fell down his sides, flexing, as he stared down the street willing for the taxi to pick him up. Anyone watching him from distance would see a calm man dressed in a tailored flight uniform, the buttons glistening in the sun together with the screen of his hat and the golden wings on his chest. However, Paul Metrand was nothing but calm at the moment although he didn't show any outward signs that he wasn't. He had been to the hospital in order to get medically recertified to fly after the accident in the Alps.

The rules where such that he wasn't allowed to see his own doctor for the occasion since the flying organization considered the physician was not objective to the cause. There had been an accident a few years earlier after a pilot had bribed his doctor to certify him fit although it was clear he wasn't. The captain had suffered a heart attack when flying across the Atlantic Ocean and it was only due to quick thinking and years of experience that the first officer on the flight had managed to bring the aircraft down safely on the ground. The accident never got out to the general public but an agreement was reached within the flight organization to oversee the rules of certification.

Paul disliked hospitals and the smell of disinfectants. He felt sick just by walking into the building. The reception area had been bustling with activity and it had taken him some time to find the doctor he was to see. The man had been thorough, a bit too thorough for Paul's liking, insisting on poking and prodding him, studying his medical history intently and the lab results of the tests he'd submitted a few days earlier. Paul had had a feeling that the lean and tall doctor in his mid-fifties had been trying very hard to find something amiss. In the end Paul hadn't been able to keep quiet and had asked him about the verdict in case he should make plans for a desk job instead. The doctor had then looked straight at him with a look of amusement on his face and said; _"Captain Metrand, somehow I can't picture you behind a desk and you shouldn't be either. I'll tell you something, not many people walk away from a flight accident, not many pilots manage to save every passenger onboard. There is a fine line between a miracle and a disaster,"_ he had trailed off and let the sentence hang in the air. _"What I'm trying to say, Captain Metrand, is that you're damn lucky. I want you to be in perfect condition before letting you up there again because there are many people that will depend on you. Your vitals are good, the severe bruising over your collarbones_ _have disappeared, the cuts and contusions reported after incident are gone-"_ The doctor had scrutinized him for a moment from where he'd taken a seat behind the desk. _"I bet you're stiff and even sore in some places but that's not uncommon and certainly not something that should hold you back. So, congratulations Captain Metrand, enjoy your flight,"_ he had finished.

There was a horn thumping further down the street that brought him out of his reverie and he spotted the taxi coming around the corner to pick him up. Relieved he reached for his flight portfolio between his legs and got into the car. He had one hour to get to the airport, meet up with Isabelle for lunch and call in at the office to go through his role as fleet captain.

OOOOOO

Tears stung in her eyes as she picked up the phone. It was as if she was living in a nightmare. She told the operator whom she wanted to speak to and waited patiently.

" _Maggie Whelan?"_ A soft voice said at the other end.

"It's me," Gemma whispered. "I just wanted to say that you're right."

There was a gasp at the other end.

"I never thought-" Gemma began in a quivering voice. "I never thought he could be that cruel. Wrongs must be corrected, Maggie. I'll bring the company down. I don't care about the costs."

" _No, Gemma,"_ Maggie said. _"You'll not do it alone."_

OOOOOO

Isabelle Delé was weary and a bit nervous as she'd parted ways with her fiancé just after lunch at Charles de Gaulle International Airport. Paul was in a hurry and had disappeared out of sight as soon as he'd finished eating and gulped down a cup of coffee, leaving her alone to check in at the FWA office. She could have gone with him straight away since she was heading to the same place but she hesitated and went for a stroll along the tarmac instead. As she'd passed the gates next to the row of company offices she walked over to the façade of glass staring, unseeing, out at the various taxying airliners. She'd never given it much thought before, just rushed between flight and office or taken a cab directly from the aircraft, the latter common since she'd started working on the Concorde. She sighed and glanced around the busy hallways of the southern tarmac, not remembering it being that crowded and the tempo so hectic. It tired her to see people with rug sacks looking completely lost, security personnel arguing with owners of one of the stores about a customer trying to steal a sandwich, an old man being pushed by a young man trying to get to the right gate in time.

"Excuse me miss?" An old woman said kindly, breaking through Isabelle's reverie, forcing the flight attendant to put on a polite smile, a smile that came out of habit due to years in her profession.

"Isabelle Delé," she said softly at the gentle woman. "Can I help you in some way?"

The woman chuckled lightly with relief. "I don't travel a lot," she excused herself sheepishly. "Had I known this place was so big, I would have come earlier."

Isabelle nodded and broke into a genuine smile this time. "I'll help you missis?" she asked realizing that she didn't know the name of the old woman before her.

"Oh forgive me. I'm Clary Winters and that'll have to be miss since old Albert decided to give in five years ago," she said with fondness. Luckily I have a son and several adorable grandchildren but unfortunately for me they live in the United States. You see I don't really fancy flying."

Isabelle placed a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You are not the only one," she assured her. "Do you know what company you're booked in on?"

Clary looked dumbfounded for a second and Isabelle felt the need to add that if she knew that they could walk up to the reception disk and as the clerk.

"I'm so sorry dear, I thought you were one of those attendants," she apologized.

"It's all right, Miss Winters, I don't mind helping you. I'm just not very well informed about ground service and flights."

The old woman studied her for a moment then smiled. "Of course dear you're dressed like a flight attendant. Silly me, I can see that now," she admonished herself as she opened her large purse to search through it after a boarding pass.

Isabelle waited patiently at her side until the woman retrieved a ticket and handed it to her.

"Transatlantic," the flight attendant said aloud, sounding thoughtful. "Flight 503 Dulles International – Heathrow." She glanced down the large hallway trying to recall where Transatlantic's office were situated and broke into a satisfied smile as she spotted the sign. Isabelle gently crooked her arm and led the old woman towards it. "Don't you have any luggage, Miss Winters?"

"Oh, please call me Clary, and no, I know about luggage handling, it'll just end up somewhere else and I'm too fond of my things to take the chance," she said softly.

They walked in silence for a while as other passengers and staff walked or rushed passed them while several last boarding calls echoed through the loudspeakers.

A dark haired woman glanced up at them from behind the counter as they neared, plastering a false smile that made Isabelle sick. She didn't blame her she had done the same thing earlier but it felt so wrong.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" the woman asked gently in a soft-spoken British accent as she looked from Isabelle to Miss Winters.

"This is Miss Clary Winters," Isabelle clarified. "She's to board your flight 503 to London. Can you please see to it that she gets onboard?"

The woman, whose nametag read Annie Nichols nodded. "Not personally, but I'll call my colleague-" she turned toward the office and lounge behind her and gently knocked on the plexiglass window. –"Sarah will be here shortly," she assured them both and then turned all her focus on the old woman. "I'm glad we found you, Miss Winters, the aircraft is about to leave within 25 minutes. The gate is on the level below and one section to the left from where we are now," she informed.

Isabelle took pity at the old woman's weary expression and asked; "I can go with you if you like," she offered.

"No no, Miss Delé, there is no need," Clary assured her appreciating the offer. "I'm sure they'll help me get onboard in time now that I have found the right people."

"Then I hope you'll have a good flight, Miss- Clary," Isabelle said joyfully as she turned to head back.

"Miss Delé," the old woman asked softly, halting the flight attendant, causing her to turn around to face the woman again.

"I never asked, which airline do you work for? I'm sure your uniform states that somewhere but my sight isn't what it was when I was younger."

The woman had such a charming way that it caused Isabelle to smile.

"Federation World Airlines," she said.

"Does your company travel to Britain?" Miss Winters asked hopefully.

Isabelle nodded. "Yes, but I'm not. However, if you feel like travelling to France-" she suggested softly in her French accented voice.

"My dear, I'm glad if I manage to get to London in one piece," Clary said lightly with a smile. "Thank you for helping an old, deranged woman."

"You're doing just fine. I get lost too occasionally when I get to a new airport," she admitted and bid her goodbye. "Take care now and have a pleasant stay in London."

Isabelle watched, as the newly arrived woman called Sarah gently led her newfound friend away to her awaiting aircraft and adventures in London, her spirits higher than before. She felt the glare from the woman behind the counter but promptly ignored it as she turned on her heels to head back to her own company's office. If the clerk couldn't handle someone from the outside being nice to one of her customers it was her problem. After all, Isabelle had never tried to persuade the passenger from going with Transatlantic, she'd only helped a lost old lady to her booked flight. Luckily the company wasn't one of the partnering firms to FWA. The offices nearby had stroke a deal when it came to helping each other figuring they'd all benefit from such actions and the climate was good around the desks of FWA and offices of the airline companies closest to them.

Isabelle once again made for the office, she walked with a confidence she didn't know she had. Men of all ages watch her as she past them and she smiled cautiously used to it from passengers and sometimes even from the crew. Then suddenly fear gripped her and she felt her heart began to thump in her chest. She walked over to sit on a bench in one of the lounges and took a deep breath. She stared out through the window and squinted as the reflection of the sun against a Boeing 747 hurt her eyes. Around her people were laughing, crying, arguing or sleeping. Children stood at the window overlooking the runways, their noses plastered against the glass to their mothers' dismay. Even though Isabelle looked at around she didn't see. She was caught up in her inner turmoil, battling the dark thoughts about life and death and scenes from the accident that she thought she'd dealt with. Her eyes unconsciously fixed on a small white spot up in the air which grew larger for every second until the shape of an Air France Concorde revealed itself. In that instant she was brought back to that fateful day.

" _Sit down Isabelle," Paul urged, his face a mask of confusion and dismay as he rapidly knocked on the door to the cockpit._

"No," she whispered as a flood of memories tried to drown her. She didn't want to relive it.

 _She rarely saw Paul so deadly serious and hastily sat down at his command. She'd only had time to strap herself in before the pressure was lost in the cabin and the door Paul had just walked through flew out in the passenger area. Wind picked up in what usually was a closed compartment, rustling her hair, sweeping the cabin crew's forward desk clean of drinks and snacks. The passengers screamed in panic and the cabin creaked forebodingly. She felt something hard hit her lower leg and gulped. She tightened her grip of the seatbelt that was strapped tight around her and couldn't help but to let out a yelp as the aircraft suddenly began to fall uncontrollably toward the ground. She'd never been so afraid in her life as when she saw the sky through holes in the body of the airliner. The noise of the powerful engines roared outside, the sound deafening as it was no longer blocked by the walls of the cabin. For a while she couldn't orient herself, didn't know what was up and what was down and she fought to stay calm._

A tear trickled down her cheek as a man gently placed his hand on her shoulder, breaking her reverie.

"Forgive me ma'am for asking but are you all right?" he asked kindly.

She swallowed and nodded sheepishly while she reached up with her hand to wipe away the tear from her cheek. "Yes, I'm fine," she whispered.

He gave her a friendly smile. "It doesn't look that way to me," he persisted with kindness.

"I was just overwhelmed by something," Isabelle replied carefully.

"A long lost lover?" he asked.

Isabelle chuckled ironically. "Something like that," she answered cryptically. "Not really wanting to share her memories with a stranger.

"I have a feeling you have no problem of finding company, miss-" he said jovially in a Southern American drawl and then trailed off and listened to the speaker voice.

"… _to Chicago gate 27,"_ a female voice said over the loudspeaker.

He glanced in the direction where he'd come from and saw the people had started to form a queue and then turned his attention back to the flight attendant.

"Pardon me, I don't mean to be rude but it looks like my plane will finally be leaving. You can't believe how many hours I've been sitting here in my loneliness wondering how long a plane can be delayed," he said and then chuckled nervously. "What a lousy timing. I've been waiting the whole day. I better go. It would be typical of me to miss it," he said charmingly. "You don't happen to be working at the company? I noticed your uniform."

Isabelle smiled politely, a smile reserved for customers, a smile that didn't reach her eyes and held no meaning. "No, I'm sorry. I'm employed elsewhere," she said.

He shook his head. "Too bad," he whispered with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and then headed to the gate.

Isabelle sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She had to get out of there. Knowing Paul was busy in a meeting and had no time for her she hastily got up from the bench and headed for the entrance to hail a taxi home and silently wondered what had gotten into her.

OOOOOO


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty – All Our Lies**

Gemma Harrison felt a knot forming in her stomach as she gathered herself, working up the courage to walk into the nondescript police station.

A lieutenant who obviously recognized her walked up to her and nodded curtly. "Mrs. Harrison," he said politely. "Come this way."

She was lead through a long corridor and into an interrogation room and felt her mood plummet.

"Please wait here while I bring Captain Rodgers," he said.

She sighed wearily and took a moment to glance at her wristwatch. That's as much as she had time to do before the door opened to reveal the lead investigator and an unknown man dressed in an expensive suit.

"Mrs. Harrison," the police captain said. "May I present Agent Ross, Interpol."

The long and lean man in his forties gave her a friendly smile and reached out his hand for her to shake. "A pleasure Mrs. Harrison," he said.

The two men quickly sat down opposite Gemma, their faces serious.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly, not liking the looks she was given, unsure of what they meant. "You have found something, haven't you?"

"How much do you know, Mrs. Harrison?" Agent Ross asked simply.

"I know I've been living a lie," she said darkly. "Recently I've learned things that makes me doubt whether or not I'm a good judge of character."

"Please explain," the captain said.

"With all due respect," she began as she clasped her fingers at the table in front of her. "You already knew all this but you didn't tell me."

Ross and Rodgers shared a solemn look.

"You failed to mention that my husband was involved in illegal business in third world countries," she said in an accusatory tone of voice. "Maggie Whelan kindly told me so and showed me some documents and then felt the need to add that she and my husband had been lovers."

"Mrs. Harrison-" Ross began.

"No, I'm not finished," she interrupted coldly. "I was told that my husband died of a stroke but the truth is that he committed suicide. Maggie is convinced that he did so because he realized that with the documents in her possession she would be able to bring him down. He must have believed those documents to be real otherwise he would never have committed such an act of desperation."

"The papers that Miss Whelan brought to our attention has been carefully evaluated and I can confirm that they are real," Ross informed her.

Gemma chuckled ironically, shook her head and looked away for a moment. "I can't believe he actually signed those papers," she whispered. "It involved weapons, he handed weapons to villains just to get his hands on more money. Those were blood money."

"His death has been investigated," Captain Rodgers admitted. "It is routine to look into every death that hasn't occurred naturally. Suspicions was brought to our attention by the coroner and the attending physician at the hospital. A man presenting himself as your family doctor and friend suggested he would break the news to you."

"I see," Gemma said gloomily. "Then there is one more thing. It sounded so far-fetched the first time I heard it that it caused me to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. However, the more I think about it the more it makes sense."

The two men's expression never wavered but the faint twitch of Rodgers lips encouraged her to go on.

"Miss Whelan claimed the Buzzard failure was planned. That it was programmed to go after the Federation World Airlines' flight 28 heading for Paris," she said. "That it was an assassination attempt on her life that would have taken out all evidence of Harrison Industries' illegal business for good."

Ross pursed his lips and nodded at Rodgers who slowly got out of his chair and headed for the door. Ross then refocused on the woman before him and said; "There is someone you should meet."

The door opened a second later and a man clad in a green dress uniform walked in. He nodded curtly at her with a stern look on his face. "Mrs. Harrison, my name is Major Ford. It has been my duty to look into the Buzzard incident."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It has been done without the knowledge of Harrison Industries," he added. "As a potential buyer of the lethal attack drone the military has been very thorough when reviewing the incident."

Gemma red between the lines and sighed wearily, she'd clearly underestimated her husband's ruthlessness. "So you mean to tell me that Miss Whelan's statement was not one of a deranged or injured woman," she guessed, dismayed at the revelation.

The Major nodded. "His associates stirred a hornet's nest within the French Airforce," he said cryptically and then seeing her confused look added; "You might recall that some of the passengers claimed the airliner was being shot at even after our boys had neutralized the drone. The FWA and the Airforce demented such an act but the truth was another matter."

Gemma suddenly felt sick, not sure she'd heard him correctly. "No," she whispered.

"Your husband had a wide network consisting of people on both sides of the law, Mrs. Harrison," the major said grimly. "However, some of them could be bought for the right amount of money or the right amount of persuasion."

She shuddered at his words.

He produced a large folder and threw it on the desk in front of her.

Gemma reached for it with a shaking hand.

"That is a report, spanning over two hundred pages. It consists of information from the NTSB, FAA, the airplane manufacturer, software experts, the police, Interpol and various institutions ranging from economical aspects to civil rights," he informed her politely. "It is a draft, the ongoing investigation will continue for several months to come but what's written in there is enough to begin processing against Harrison Industries and its associates. We have the company under surveillance."

Gemma nodded dourly and somewhat in shock at the report. "Thank you for telling me," she whispered. "I wish I could have stopped him somehow."

"You listen to me, Mrs. Harrison," the major said in a friendly manner. "Doctor Harrison chose what path to walk a long time ago. There would have been nothing you could have done to stop him."

"Forgive me Major but that's not reassuring," she said hollowly.

OOOOOO

Claude Bonn sighed wearily as he cast one last look over his shoulder at the empty passenger cabin of the Boeing 747. All was quiet, the passengers were long gone, and the only thing remaining was the trash that filled the bins to the brim. Despite the fact that he was exhausted and that his ears were still ringing from the sound of screaming children he was smiling. It had been his first international trip since the accident and he'd been quite nervous before takeoff. Now as it had been completed all that was left was a jovial weariness and a desire for a beer to celebrate.

He'd come a long way since the accident in the process of understanding it and understand his reactions to it but there was till times when it haunted him at nights. He took a deep breath and exited the aircraft, his soles echoing as he walked down the narrow corridor toward the tarmac of Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. He nodded politely at the security guard posted at the gate and halted in mid-step as stewardess Mary Clark walked up to him and gave him a friendly hug.

"Mary," he whispered happily albeit a little surprised.

"I've missed you Claude," she said with a dazzling smile.

He chuckled in amusement at her statement. She missed everyone and she worried about everyone. It was like she was the mother of all the cabin crew personnel at the company. He didn't mind, he actually appreciated her very much and loved her warm and easygoing persona. The fact that she'd been onboard the Concorde seemed to have tightened their bond to each other.

"So, no thoughts about retiring from the service?" he teased lightly.

"Cheeky bugger," she exclaimed as she gently slapped his shoulder. "I'm only forty-nine. At my age I'm at peak efficiency."

"I've missed you too, Mary," he said. "What plane where you on?"

"AirJets," she said cryptically. "I called in a favor and ended up in the first class cabin – as a passenger of course."

"So, did you pick up something on your little tour that we should copy?" he asked curiously.

"Claude," she complained lightly, "You think I spied on their job routines?"

He shrugged.

"Actually-" she began.

"I thought so," he interrupted with a hearty laugh. "Now, how did you get that favor? There are rumors you're seeing someone in a very, should I say, forwarded position-"

"Oh, get over it already," she cut off cheekily. "Now, go and get some sleep. I came to tell you that there'll be a party early in the morning."

He frowned. "In the morning?" he asked in disbelief.

Mary nodded and chuckled. "Captain Patroni is back in town."

OOOOOO

Exhausted by the day Gemma longed for her bed, to drape the duvet over her head and be left alone in her misery. She threw the car keys on the bench inside the door and slowly walked the staircase to the next floor. She draped her clothes over a chair and walked into the bathroom to take quick and hot shower when the phone shrilled. With a sigh she walked out in the hallway to pick it up.

"Yes?" she said wearily as she rubbed her tired eyes.

"There's a call for you, Mrs. Harrison, he did not say his name. Would you like to take it?" the operator asked.

"Put it through," she answered.

"Gemma," an all too familiar voice said over the line.

"Willie," she acknowledged.

"I'll help you," he said.

OOOOOO


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One –** In the Past

Isabelle got out of the cab at the airport early in the morning and smiled gently at the cab driver as she got out of the car and paid for the ride. She'd told Paul there were some things she needed to sort out at the office and quickly gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving. He'd merely cocked an eyebrow at her and asked what it was, taking for granted she'd been there the day before when he'd been in the meeting. She couldn't tell him she couldn't go there and claimed she just wanted to check out an inconsistency with the new schedule and that she would be home for brunch.

That white little lie was still nagging her as she walked through the doors to the main hall and headed for Federation World Airlines office. This time she didn't hesitate outside the door, instead she strode in and then came to a halt just inside the door.

Balloons hung from the ceiling, everyone was smiling and coffee was handed out by Emma, one of the clerks. There was a small gathering to the left of her and she couldn't help but to chuckle as she spotted the burly and jovial American captain in the middle.

He beckoned for her to come over, waving his hand as he entangled himself from the rest. "Isabelle!" he said with a large grin and within seconds he'd strode over to her to give her a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Joe," she said happily, surprised to see him. "I thought you were back in Washington."

He took a look at his wristwatch. "I was, about seventeen hours ago," he replied, still smiling, cheekily. "I'll tell you what, I wasn't overly excited to drive a buss; no matter how much you push it's still not fast. I came here in the middle of the night. It was even too late for a party."

"Hey!" Came a protest from one of the other captains in the room. "You crashed your sports car," he added, meaning the Concorde. "Besides the 747 is not so bad, she's a steady bird."

"Boys and their toys," a soft spoken Australian flight attendant said with an amused shake of her head as she walked up to Isabelle. "Come and try some of the cakes, they're really marvelous. Captain Patroni and Maggie fixed them for this little welcome back party of his."

"I didn't even know he was here," Isabelle protested lightly as she let her fellow flight attendant steer her away.

"He didn't now he could be here until yesterday," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "That's when he completed the last medical tests upgraded his psychological profile. There was a Boeing 747 on overhaul at our Washington based damage control center that was to be transported here today and that crafty bastard convinced Captain Paxton to take him on as first officer."

Isabelle couldn't help but to laugh at the pretended smartness of her colleague's voice. "Yes, unlike Paul I think Joe is qualified to fly Boeing straight away," she said.

"Surely Captain Metrand can fly a buss as Captain Petroni calls the 747: s?" she raised a questionable eyebrow.

Isabelle shrugged. "I really don't know, I haven't actually asked. I do know that he's been flying Concorde for several years commercially and before that worked as a test pilot at the facility in Toulouse."

"But you met him at FWA didn't you?" Rosie asked curiously. "I've seen him before this new Concorde arrived."

"You've seen him at Air France," Isabelle explained. "I worked there for a short amount of time too. I was later approached by FWA with a better contract at a time when I was awfully tired of flying. I even considered a change in career."

Rosie shook her head. "No honey, you're the best. There will be no quitting for you. I've heard nothing but praise from your co-workers-" she trailed off and glanced around before leaning close to Isabelle to whisper into her ear. "-or underlings as I call my staff," she said with a low playful chuckle.

Isabelle stared at her for a moment then burst out laughing. They were both in charge of their respective cabin crew.

"Listen," Rosie said cheerfully as she dug into a chocolate cake. "This might not be my business but how did you manage to ensnarl captain handsome?"

Isabelle pursed her lips into a thin line. "You're right, that is not your business," she said but even if her words seemed harsh her tone of voice was playful and light. She then sighed ruefully. "I've worked hard for that and I have to tell you, he's caused me a lot of heartache."

"I've heard a lot of that from various colleagues," she said causing Isabelle to frown.

"No, don't get me wrong Isabelle. I'm talking about our golden boys in general, not only yours," she assured her.

"It's just- you know people are gossiping. Let's just say that Captain Metrand was high on some people's listings and some will give you the evil eye honey," Rosie finished and gently squeezed Isabelle's shoulder to comfort her. "Not only people from this company."

Isabelle looked at her realization dawning on her as to what her older colleague was insinuating and she suddenly felt both disappointed and sad at the same time. "You don't think he, or they, can keep away from each other? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Isabelle finished incredibly, her voice a near whisper tinged with disbelief.

At this Rosie said nothing but she didn't look up to level her eyes with Isabelle's. "They just don't change over a night, honey," the older flight attendant said apologetically as she once again squeezed her shoulder and then turned on her heels to walk over to Captain Tracy and another gathering at the end of the room.

Isabelle stared after her, her mood plummeting.

"This is a party Isabelle, why the puppy eyed look?" Joanna Jones asked as she walked up to her, having arrived only a minute before.

Isabelle smiled genuinely at her. "Jo, I didn't see you coming," she said happily albeit a little surprised.

"To tell you the truth I never thought I would come," she said a little sheepishly. "But I missed this-" she trailed off and gestured around the office filled with happy people and then toward the large windows overlooking the runways. "Flying regional is not the same thing, nothing new, no other languages or cultures to try, no Latinos or Europeans. I wanted to start anew with a new company, new people and new destinations. I don't know what I was looking for really but it wasn't what I found. I am ashamed I could even think it would be better somewhere else."

"Don't be Jo," Isabelle said softly. "I know how you felt. Right after the accident I – everything felt wrong. Like I had changed but everything around me remained the same, appearing as it always had. I felt like I could take on the world at days and at nights I cried myself to sleep hugging my pillow."

Jo smirked gloomily. "Are you sure the pillow was the only thing you hugged at night?" she asked carefully as she cocked an eyebrow and broke into an enigmatic smile.

Isabelle eyed her wearily suddenly on her guard, Rosie's words still fresh in her mind. Joanna immediately sensed something was wrong.

"Has something happened?" Joanna said concerned.

Isabelle shook her head stoically and then forced a smile on her lips. "No, everything's just fine," she assured her colleague.

"How long have we worked together?" Joanna admonished. "I can see all is not well."

Isabelle let out a low chuckle as she gently ran her fingers just below her eyes. "Rosie and I were talking earlier and- well it concerned Paul. She kind of insinuated that he didn't want me, at least not for long." she said sadly.

"What?" Joanna burst out in annoyance casting a glare in the direction of the older Australian flight attendant. "There is something I haven't told you Isabelle. Something I probably should have said a long time ago. When Rosie saw you walk hand in hand with Captain Metrand at the joint flight crew party-"

"The second time I saw him and the first time I had the guts to approach him," Isabelle broke in, deep in thought, looking almost drawn back in time. "Lara, my superior attendant at the time just shook her head at me."

"-she looked downright angry," Joanna continued as if Isabelle had never interrupted. "It got obvious that Rosie had a crush on Captain Metrand even though I didn't know her very well then."

"We met occasionally back then and had the time of our lives, at least I had. Then one day he was just gone," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I started looking for him but he was nowhere to be found. I realized then the hard truth about our dates. To him I was just a fling while I was serious. It took me months to get over him, I wanted to throw things at him, and at one point I swear I would have enjoyed slapping him, to hurt his feelings."

"Isabelle," Joanna chided lightly.

"I saw him at times on some parties but I kept away from him and he didn't see me, or maybe he pretended he didn't see me," she mused. "Now that I think about it I saw Rosie there too."

"Clinging to him?" Joanna asked in disdain.

"No, I didn't see them together," Isabelle answered. "Sure he was talking to women but not her, at least not at the time."

Joanna studied her as she got an amused, almost fond look on her face. "Thinking about something special?" she asked teasingly.

"I've always singled him out in a crowd but I've kept telling myself we would have no future together, he's proven me right on two occasions, the first one when he vanished and the second time when we hooked up at a hotel and-"

"Okay," Joanna raised her arms in a gesture of surrender. "I get the picture, involuntarily I might add."

"After the accident I...well actually it was before the crash, when we'd landed in Paris. We were drawn to each other and I followed him home after setting up poor Captain Patroni with some woman."

Joanna shook her head in amusement.

"As I said, I ended up following him home. It looked the same as it always had and the pictures of us taken earlier was still there. It turned serious- I will never forget his face, the look in his eyes, when he told me that he wanted us to get together again," Isabelle said.

"Something he just said?" Joanna asked carefully.

Isabelle shook her head. "No, for the first time he was serious, not playing around, no smooth talking. I must have looked dumbfounded. I studied him for a moment, not daring to get my hopes up."

"Well, you deserve to be happy, Isabelle and judging from what you've just told me I'd say he won't let you go. Captain Metrand is stubborn, that much I know and quite cunning too if I'm to believe some of the pranks he's pulled on fellow pilots."

That statement caused Isabelle to laugh out loud, her eyes twinkling.

"Feeling better now?" Joanna asked happily.

"Oh, Jo, I was supposed to comfort you," Isabelle whined lightly, her voice apologetic.

"But you have, believe me. I've missed this, my friends and colleagues, everything," Joanna said and then added. "That new first officer that Captain Tracy is dragging along- look at him. What do you think?"

Isabelle slapped her playfully on the shoulder. "I think Sean, our administration clerk assistant, will be very disappointed in you," she said lightly. "Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you?"

"Come on, he's such a dull character. I admit that he's cute but I need some substance, some indication that he can do other things than being nice to old lady passengers," she said cheekily.

"Well then don't let me stop you," Isabelle said with a wry grin. "I'll just head behind the counter and report in. I'm a bit curious as of how my new flight schedule look."

"You know, I just got this marvelous idea. Why don't you call Captain Metrand and ask him to come over? I'm sure Captain Patroni would be delighted and that Rosie would be furious to see you hold his hand," she said in amusement.

Isabelle shook her head sadly. "I promised Paul I'd be home for brunch. I don't really want to be here, I just want to forget about the accident and get on with my life. Sometimes at night I-"

Joanna gently squeezed her shoulder with a vain smile. "I think we all have those nightmares. I know it sounds impossible but we have to learn to deal with them and let them make us stronger instead of bringing us down," she said softly.

"I guess you're right," Isabelle whispered ejectively.

"Wise words, aren't they?" Joanna said with a smirk. "Courtesy of my therapist. Believe me, it's easier said than done."

OOOOOO


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two –** Revelations

"… _cast suspicions on Manuel Froelich, Federation World Airlines chief engineer in France._ Although the company has been cleared of malpractise the investigators refuse to shed some light on what Froelich is suspected for. Rumors are that he was responsible for reprogramming the cargo door that eventually brought the aircraft down. Since Froelich was found with a considerable amount of money and booked in on a flight to Bahamas it seems to be a reasonable assumption. Now that question remains – how paid him to do their bidding and why?" the news anchor asked enigmatically as he looked straight into the camera.

Willie Halpern shuddered at the words and leaned back. The normally comfortable leather chair in the conference room felt hard and cold and the tension in the room was palpable as each of the board members either looked away or glared intently at the frozen picture of the news anchor before them.

John Field looked grim as he let his eyes roam over the room, the remote still in hand. "This was recorded by my assistant a few hours ago," he said coldly.

"I must give them credit. It'll just be a matter of time before they're on to us," Sales Director Raymond Riggs said sourly.

"I was under the impression that no one would be able to discover the changes Froelich did," Field said as he gazed at the spokesman.

"No one here was under the impression that the investigators would even consider such actions had taken place," Jones returned calmly, his voice hard.

"Forgive me for my straight forward manner," Riggs said. "But why did Kevin think he could get away with it?"

"Froelich assured him the aircraft would be ripped apart and that it would plunge into a mountainside uncontrollably, not leaving a single soul alive. It would have looked like a tragic accident," the chairman, John Field answered in a calm voice, devoid of emotion.

"But it didn't now, did it?" Riggs countered angrily, raising his voice. "The captain landed the aircraft at an alpine resort."

"Luck," Special Operations Manager Anderson muttered. "He knew the area and he knew the aircraft."

Riggs harrumphed as he crossed his arms across his chest. "Failure on Froelich's part. If he'd programmed the hatch to open one hour later they wouldn't have stand a chance."

"Why blame the engineer?" Anderson questioned. "Doctor Harrison had the chance to see to it that Miss Whelan disappeared in France. Instead he sat down with her at a restaurant and continued his innocent charade. He even asked her to skim through his written confession! In my opinion that's absurd."

Willie Halpern spoke up from the back of the room. "What's the point in arguing about it now?" he said hollowly, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and regret. "Kevin is dead, Froelich is dead."

Silence settled over the room.

Willie leaned forward in his chair, his face grim as he glanced around the table. "It's not they who've exposed us," he said coldly. "It is your actions in the aftermath that made it possible for the investigators and officers to connect everything to Harrison Industries. It is the failed assassination attempt on Maggie Whelan, the documents, the way we brushed off Gemma Harrison and made her suspicious."

"If you'd not agreed to reprogram that stupid drone none of this would have happened," Riggs shouted across the table. "We would have been able to sell the drone and cashed in a lot of money."

"You amaze me sometimes," Willie said calmly as he clasped his hands behind his head. "Miss Whelan would have told the whole world about Harrison Industries illegal business."

"She did anyway," Jones pointed out. "We could have claimed them to be falsified and the whole thing would have been forgotten."

"She didn't get the opportunity to do so," Anderson reasoned with a malevolent smile. "She's been too busy hiding."

"She told the police, that's all that matters at this point. How long do you think it will take them to confirm those papers are the real deal and have us all busted?" Riggs pushed in frustration.

"Well, if our Special Operations Manager here had done his job after the whole mess with the Concorde we wouldn't still have this problem," the chairman reasoned calmly as he turned to scrutinize Anderson across the table.

"Exactly and furthermore we could have shown the military the Buzzard's full potential and closed the deal," Riggs added.

"And instead you threw it away," a cold female voice said from the doorway.

They turned their heads in confusion as Gemma Harrison walked inside with several officers in tow. She made her way over to Willie and looked him deep into the eyes. She looked disappointed and outraged at the same time.

"Why, Willie?" she whispered.

"I must caution you, sir. Everything you'll say may be used against you in court of law," an officer said seriously as he walked up behind Gemma.

"I don't know, Gemma," Willie said truthfully. "To protect our interests, to save ourselves."

"All those innocent people," she whispered.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry but there was nothing he could say that would change anything. Instead he let himself be hauled up from the chair and led away from the room in cuffs ready to take his punishment. He only hoped he would be able to see his grandchild again before he died. At least he hoped to get his sentence reduced for helping Gemma to set up the meeting. It felt good to come clean. Perhaps now he'd once again be able to sleep at night.

OOOOOO

Three days later, dressed in his flight uniform, Paul Metrand walked briskly through the main hall of the Charles de Gaulle Airport with a grim look on his face. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw people smile at him and nod at him as he walked past them. At one time he heard his name being mentioned and several of the clerks selling tickets bowed lightly at him. He wasn't used to being singled out in a crowd but after the miracle landing he'd been forced to get used to it whether he wanted it or not. Some of the passengers he'd saved thought the world of him, journalists seemed to believe he could fly anything nowadays while he was fighting his doubts when it came to his flying skills. What if he couldn't fly anymore? What if he didn't have what it took?

Paul swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he kept his pace through the busy hallways on his way toward the test center. He was weary yet wired at the same time. He'd gotten little sleep the night before. He had actually dreaded this day. It was only a scheduled flight test in a simulated environment but still he was nervous. He prayed they didn't want to recreate the accident.

"Hey you glorified bus driver," a voice boomed from behind.

Paul Metrand stopped in his tracks and turned around with a raised eyebrow to see an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.

There in the busy tarmac of Charles de Gaulle stood a brash American man clad in a dark blue Captain's uniform with silver stripes, the attire completed with a hat and silver wings on his chest.

Paul shook his head in disbelief as he took a step toward him unconsciously straightening in his own black uniform with golden stripes. "Hey Johnny Boy," he said with a grin as the burly American captain quickly closed the distance and lifted him in the air causing passersby's to glance in their direction.

"You must eat properly, Paul, you're light as a feather," he said with a hearty laugh as he put down the French captain.

"Where have you been, John?" Paul said cheerfully as he eyed his friend from a long time ago, while still in the early days of flying.

"Everywhere," he replied turning serious. "I've been flying for various companies, right now I'm flying for Air Atlantic. Look, I've been meaning to call you but every time something else has gotten in the way. I saw you on the news that day," he trailed off and shook his head somberly. "My goodness, Paul, I saw the crash filmed by that amateur. Holy smokes, you- do you know how lucky you are?"

"Luck had nothing to with it," Paul said seriously as he began to walk down the busy hallway.

John followed suit. "Look, Paul, I'm just saying. Can't I buy you a drink? Let's sit down and have a talk," he suggested kindly.

"I don't have much time, I'm due in the simulator in an hour," he explained patently.

"An orange juice in the bar then?" the American captain asked.

Paul sighed and then relented.

"You are nervous," John stated in disbelief.

Paul remained silent as they walked toward the nearest bar situated at the end of the tarmac.

"Why?" John asked incredibly. "Paul, you are a hero. You landed that aircraft safely where most would have failed. Whatever they throw at you in the simulator I'm sure you can handle it. Are there anything you aren't telling me? Did you injure yourself in the crash?"

"No, apart from a few cuts and bruises, light hypothermia and a cold I did just fine," Paul returned as they walked through the glass door to the crowded bar.

A few heads turned at their entrance and some people stopped talking, some nodded in their direction recognizing Metrand from the news and magazines and Paul's mood sank. It had been two months and he'd hoped everyone would forget about the accident and let him live his life with the anonymity he'd had once before.

"I married Tracy," John said suddenly and grinned at the look of confusion on his friend's face. "You know that good looking flight attendant that only had eyes for me when we flew together at Air Britain."

Paul snorted as he leaned at the counter. "As I recall it wasn't you she waited for," he said with amusement.

John countered with a laugh. "No, not at first but since you got hold up somewhere and I'd worked my charm on her she realized I was the one," he said cockily.

"Well, you sure hasn't lost your self-assurance," Paul quipped as he turned to the bartender. "Two glasses of orange juice."

"And I'm paying for those," John added.

They waited till the glasses were handed over and headed for a table at the corner of the room and sat down opposite one another.

"And did it work out?" Paul asked with a wry smile.

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"With Tracy?" Paul added with a tease. "I can't recall you where that slow to pick up on what I meant."

"You arrogant, dry little weasel," John returned with a playful undertone. "I've missed your company. As for your question. We're good. To be fair, it took me a while to convince her to marry me but that was a long time ago and we've been living together and flying together for five years."

"Am I to remind you that we parted ways ten years ago?" Paul asked as he sipped his orange juice.

"I did say it took me a while didn't I?" he replied as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. "I can't recall you where that slow on catching up."

Paul laughed as his previous words was thrown right back at him.

"How about you?" John asked with a wry smile. "I remember you. You were the worst kind, a new woman at every location. The flight attendant's seemed to like you for some unfathomable reason."

"I'm engaged to Isabelle. A flight attendant at the company. We've had an on and off relationship as you would say. We've picked up where we left off, no commitments. At least not from my side," he answered.

"So you disappeared on her occasionally. And she still wants you?" John asked curiously. "Lucky bastard. Or is it so that you've finally grown up?"

"I'm forty two years old, John and I'm not getting any younger. I didn't take life that seriously before," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Although, people change. Near death experiences have a way of reminding people about living."

John nodded solemnly.

"I don't want to live alone anymore, John. I'm tired of the life I've been living, I'm tired of partying and I am tired of brief acquaintances that leads to nowhere. I was afraid of commitment before, I've realized that now and I think I've always had a thing for Isabelle since the first time I laid eyes on her," he confessed.

"Did you hit your head in the accident?" John asked with a smile in an effort to lighten the serious mood. "If you did that was a good thing, a shame you didn't sooner."

"What brings you to Paris?" Paul asked, his lips curling upwards.

"Air Atlantic is going to fly nonstop from Paris to Chicago. We're here setting up an office. I'm just coming from the States. It was a preflight to see the route and plan for the timetable. Our first official flight will not occur until next month," he explained. "Tracy and I are planning to buy a little something in Paris and were hoping you could recommend a place. I don't mind if it's close to your house."

"That depends on how many nasty rumors you're planning on spreading about me in the neighborhood," Paul said dryly.

"I am your friend, remember that," John said seriously. "I'm grateful for your help."

Paul glanced at his watch and hastily drank the last of the juice before standing. "I better rush, John, but I'll see what I can do. I promise," he said truthfully.

John stood up as well and halted Paul as he placed a hand on his sleeve. "I'm glad you're alive, Paul," he said. "I really am."

OOOOOO


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three –** Back to Business

One time zone away and to the northwest Flight Engineer Peter O'Neill smiled kindly at the woman in the shop as she handed him his new exclusive slacks and a stark white shirt over the counter, neatly stuffed in a bag. His eyes lingered at the good looking woman for a moment longer than necessary but he was still too shy for asking a woman out after just a brief moment of dialogue. He exited the shop with light steps and headed outside.

The British weather usually left a lot to be desired with rain and a dampness that sometimes chilled bones but on this particular day the sun shone bright over Leeds. It had been a long time since he'd taken time to go home and maybe that had been a good thing because then he hadn't been reminded of how much he'd actually missed it. Peter was a bright engineer and had spent most of his career in the air. When he was little he was a shy boy and absolutely disdained surprises and hated taking risks so when he'd casually strode up to his parents one day claiming he wanted to be enlisted and work with aircrafts they had just stared at him. After a while they'd been delighted and helped him with everything he might need. He entered the Airforce and began a voyage that would strengthen his self-confidence and eventually take him around the world as a flight engineer.

Until that unfaithful day he'd been happy with his life, he was thirty five, had a girlfriend and liked his job. His girlfriend, Sara, wasn't overly pretty and she liked to nag at him from time to time but he liked her anyway. After the rather shaky and unpleasant trip toward Paris and then Moscow that ended prematurely at the mountain side of the Swiss Alps something in him snapped. Something in him had simply had enough about the mediocre life he'd made for himself. He was suddenly fed up by his girlfriend, his glasses, and his style in general. He was tired of hearing several of the pilot's brag about their latest conquest and he realized that his job could be very dangerous. The latter realization was unpleasant but something he chose to overlook, after all, what else could he do? He'd been flying for fifteen years now.

After a few days in the Alps, being checked over by a doctor, chased by nosy reporters and interrogated by a flight investigator he'd finally been transferred to Innsbruck International Airport and free to go wherever he wanted. Right there and then it had struck him that he didn't know what he wanted or where home really was. He'd strolled the airport for a while, contemplating about his life, as he watched several airliners take off to various destinations and saw happy people preparing for either a business trip or a vacation. He'd bought a newspaper and as he sat down to read it he'd to his dismay seen the remains of the Concorde as one of the headlines. Disappointed that the world couldn't just forget about it and that he was haunted about it in his dreams he crumbled it to a ball and threw it in a bin. It was then he'd involuntarily started to think back to his childhood and his beautiful Great Britain and decided to head home.

Peter stopped briefly to watch his mirror image reflected in the glass of a large window. He looked nothing like he had before. He was dressed elegantly in a blue suit, his hair was cut short in a modern fashion and gone where his glasses, replaced by contacts. He walked straight with self-confidence and not with his back slightly arched like before. Satisfied and with a faint smile on his lips he began to walk back toward the apartment that he'd temporarily hired. Since he hadn't planned his near future he'd reasoned that living at a hotel would be too expensive even if his salary always had been good. He'd been to see his parents, they'd hugged him and been overly happy to see him again and he'd been likewise. Although it had been hard to see them look so old and frail, not young and strong as he'd remembered them to be. They'd shared meals, talked about life and everything around it. The conversations had made him happier and had obviously worked as therapy for him and he felt that he'd come out stronger.

So caught up in his own musings he almost missed his apartment. He quickly retraced a few steps and headed for the door. He said hello to the portiere and headed upstairs, inserted his key and got inside the stylish flat. He started to head over to the window as the phone started ringing and walked over to pick it up.

"Hello?" he said curiously as he frowned.

" _Peter O'Neill,"_ the operator said. _"There is a long distance call for you."_

He nodded despite knowing that she couldn't see him do so. "Put it through," he said.

After a few seconds a familiar voice sounded over the line.

" _Mr. O'Neill,"_ Eli Sande said jovially. _"You're hard to track down nowadays."_

"Sir," Peter returned politely, not sure what else to say at the moment.

" _I figured you needed some time otherwise I'd planned on calling you earlier,"_ he said in a straight forward manner. _"You're still employed at FWA as I haven't seen your resignation and while you did one heck of a job back there and earned a bit of vacation I do need you to return now."_

There was a brief silence before the flight engineer replied, a moment of hesitation.

"Maybe you're right," he finally said.

" _Good,"_ the president of the Federation World Airlines boomed _. "There is a flight destined for Paris in two days. Dulles – De Gaulle."_

"That would be just enough time," Peter returned. "I need to finish up some things here. Would I be flying with anyone I know?"

" _Catton and Garcia I think,"_ came the quick answer.

Peter's mood sank a little. It wasn't that he had anything against the men but deep inside he'd hoped he'd got to fly with Metrand or Patroni again.

" _Well, Patroni said he wanted you onboard if I got hold of you but you won't be able to catch his flight or get your schedule to match his for another week,"_ Eli filled in as if reading his mind.

"I would appreciate that, sir," he said.

" _It's Eli, Peter,"_ the man returned in a softer voice. _"I don't mind. After all we've both shared experiences onboard the Concorde."_

Peter smiled at the statement but he didn't comment on it. "I'll be at Dulles in two days then, Eli," he said.

" _I count on it, Peter,"_ Mr. Sande said and bid his goodbye before ending the call.

Peter O'Neill gently placed the phone back in its holder and sat down in the sofa, gazing out through the window; there, as a tiny streak on the bright blue sky flew an aircraft, his eyes settled on it and a cautious smile settled over his lips as wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes. That's where he belonged, up in the air.

This time he would follow the flight and cabin crew out at night and party into the morning, working on his new life and his new image. After all, he'd been given a second chance and he was going to take it.

OOOOOO

Eli Sande sighed as he watched the overwhelming amount of mail at his desk. He'd been back in Washington for a week but he'd hardly sat his foot inside the office. Instead he'd been out on errands to make sure that everything was working satisfactory. He'd been reporting to the department heads, briefed the administration desk, and talked the union and so on. He dared to hope that everything was in working order and that the press wasn't lingering in the shadows trying to get a glimpse of him or anyone else involved in the accident. He smirked and then somberly corrected himself. It hadn't been an accident. It had been a deliberate act but what shocked him the most was that it had been the third attempt to bring the aircraft down. Eli shook his head and sighed as he sat down behind his large mahogany desk to begin to sort out the mail.

His eyes trailed the outline of a particular parcel in the middle of the stack and singled it out. It was addressed to him personally and signed with the NTSB symbol. Curios as to what it contained, he gently opened it and peered inside the burly envelope. It was a report spanning over a hundred pages and more. Intrigued and relieved to finally have it in his hand he began to read. Several hours later a wide grin spread over his face as he lifted the phone to make an in-house call.

The man in question answered on the fourth ring.

"FWA, Joshua Dalton speaking," he said.

"Took you long enough," Eli teased.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize you were still in at this hour."

Eli cast a quick glance at his wristwatch and frowned. He'd been so engrossed in the report he hadn't taken notice of the time.

"Time flies when you have fun," he remarked cryptically.

"A private party?" Dalton asked dryly.

"Jokes aside," Eli returned seriously. "I've been reading the report from NTSB about the accident."

"We've got it?" the vice president asked in surprise.

"It sat at my desk, waiting to be found," Eli said. "Anyway, I think you should order some champagne Joshua. I've only skimmed it and the excerpts of the police report and the military report that had been attached to it but it's enough to understand that despite Froelich's connections to FWA the company has been cleared. Harrison Industries has been singled out as the only culprit. Furthermore the Concorde manufacturer is suing Harrison Industries for damage of goods and reputation."

Joshua let out a low whistle. "I don't even want to know the amount of money they're suing for," he said.

"It's finally over," Eli said hollowly. "I can't believe it."

"Right," Joshua said and let out a chuckle. "I'll put the champagne on ice as it arrives."

"Don't spare on the expensive. Not this time. We're going to have a party, the largest damn party the flight industry has ever seen the likes of!" Eli said resolutely.

OOOOOO

Back in the posh suburban Isabelle Delé glanced out in the hallway as the front door opened to reveal her fiancée. "There you are. I was beginning to worry," she said softly as she got out of the comfortable armchair and headed toward him.

He looked smug as he shrugged out of his flight jacket and placed his hat on the shelf. The pilot then turned to her and sneaked his arms around her slim middle. "I'll have you know that I passed the simulator test excellently. I'm certified to fly again," he let on.

Isabelle let out a sigh of relief, not that she'd expected any less, and tightened her grip around him. "Well then captain," she said seductively. "Since I'm such a clairvoyant I've arranged for us to be picked up and taken to a restaurant to celebrate the occasion."

"Isabelle," he said in surprise as he straightened to look at her, her eyes sparkling.

"I love you, Paul," she said as she peered deep into his blue-grey eyes. "Je'Taime, remember?"

He reached over to cup her head and kissed her passionately on the lips.

When they parted she gave him a dazzling smile. "Keep that up monsignor and I might cancel the reservations and keep you all to myself."

OOOOOO


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four –** News

Several weeks had passed since the board members of Harrison Industries had been brought into custody charged by several wrongdoings. Maggie Whelan looking no worse for wear was sitting at the bar dressed in casual clothes, having come from the studio to meet up with Gemma to celebrate their victory. They shared a laugh at Kevin's expense and Gemma snapped her fingers to call on the waitress. A minute later she'd ordered a fresh round and paid for it with money from a joint account that Kevin had set up years ago. Gemma had no qualms about doing so reasoning that he'd caused them so much grief that he could at least pay for their drinks.

They'd talked everything through, laughed and cried together for several days and Gemma had even started to like Maggie but when she sobered up for a while and looked at the blonde woman sitting next to her at the bar she realized that she could never forgive her.

"Thank you, Gemma, for believing," Maggie said seriously the grin still lingering on her face. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you."

"I wish, Maggie, that the circumstances were different," she said. "I like you, I really do and I trust you with my life but I can never forgive you for what you did."

"I'm sorry," Maggie whispered, her eyes downcast. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

Gemma smiled without mirth, a political smile she'd used on many occasion while being away doing business. "But you enjoyed every minute of it, didn't you?"

"Yes," Maggie admitted reluctantly.

Gemma huffed, shook her head and then chuckled. "I harbor no hard feelings toward you. I chose to blame Kevin. He had everything but he wanted more and that more destroyed him and me with it. I'm leaving the country tomorrow, I need a fresh start, and to live where no one recognize me. I've always wanted to go to Bahamas," she said.

Maggie swallowed realizing she was about to lose her newfound friend. "So this is goodbye?" she finally managed, her eyes moist.

Gemma nodded and gently hugged her. "I need to go Maggie," she whispered in her ear. "But if you ever go to Bahamas – come and visit me."

Maggie brightened at the offer.

"Just stay away from any future husband of mine," Gemma cautioned with a faint smile.

"Take care, Gemma. I'll miss you," Maggie said.

She nodded, grabbed her purse and blew the news anchor a kiss as she disappeared out the door.

OOOOOO

Henri Davies shook his head in disbelief but a grin was present on his face. He closed the folder before him and stared out through a window separating the office from the testing facility and focused on the large tailfin of the ill-fated Concorde. The metal was scraped and scorned, the paint cracking and coming close. It would never be restored to its former glory but the story of the aircraft would be forever remembered. The flight investigator still had a hard time to grasp the truth about the incident that could have turned into a disaster had it not been for some quick thinking and seasoned pilots. Thinking back upon it the whole thing seemed a little far-fetched and, truth to be told, hadn't he seen it written in a report first hand he wasn't sure he'd believed it.

He fingered on a report lying on his desk next to his own folder about the accident, a report coming from the FAA. He had several others scattered over his desk. One from the federal police, one from the Swiss Authorities then there were engineering and maintenance reports, conclusions from the manufacturer of the aircraft, a draft from the investigators at the department of defense, the list was long. For the first time he'd been involved in investigating not only an airplane disaster but a scene of a crime. The catalyst in all this and probably the main reason for it to happen in the first place was that Doctor Kevin Harrison, CEO of Harrison Industries, was about to be exposed and confronted with his illegal business worldwide, mostly in third world countries, by an employee.

In desperation Harrison had had the man eliminated. However, his mistress, Maggie Whelan, had gotten wind of the supposedly secret documentation of his arms dealings. Maggie Whelan was a famous news anchor who'd have no problem breaking the news of his illegal deals that had led to many deaths and suffering in third world countries. A statement from her would immediately lead to an inquiry and an investigation of his business also he suspected that his wife Gemma Harrison had started to suspect something was going on. Harrison suddenly had the means to take out both his mistress and the documents at the same time as she would be on her way to Paris on the goodwill flight arranged by FWA with Concorde Flight 28 the same day as the scheduled Buzzard test was to be launched.

Kevin Harrison had purposely misguided the drone, reprogrammed it, to have it attack the Concorde instead of the original prey. Fortunately the flight crew acted rationally and managed to fool the attack drone long enough for the Airforce to respond. Then, as Harrison failed in his attempt to eliminate his lover, he apparently called an associate in France who bribed an officer, had him steal a French military jet, fly under the radar and try to shot down the unknowing airliner.

Henri shook his head again as he thought back upon the conclusion. Kevin Harrison had been nothing but persistent in trying to keep his company's name clear. The next day he'd with the help of an associate bribed the chief engineer at FWA and given a man on the borderline of being broke enough money to buy himself a small island if he saw to it that the Concorde never made it to Moscow.

In the light of the accident it scared Davies what engineers could actually do nowadays as he thought about how the man named Froelich had programmed the cargo door to open in mid-air. He felt a gratitude towards Captain Metrand who'd briefly worked as a test pilot for the Concorde and knew the aircraft inside out. Furthermore he was grateful that another captain with decades of experience in flying had the copilot's seat for this special voyage.

Doctor Kevin Harrison had never even considered the aftereffects should anyone survive the flight and took his own life in an act of desperation to avoid capture, detention and humiliation. Davies sighed, and when he thought back at it he wondered how in heavens name anyone could have survived the flight. In some wicked way faith seemed to have chosen the place where the Concorde had started to break apart and right then and there Metrand remembered a small ski resort he'd visited years before which happened to be nearby. Davies didn't believe in faith, at least he hadn't before but this one time he wondered if some divine figure hadn't intervened. He had once met a pilot who'd survived a crash where most people had died. When asked why he thought he'd been spared he'd shrugged his shoulders and said to Davies, when the flight investigator had visited him at the hospital, that it hadn't been his time to die.

That day up on the mountainside it hadn't been meant for anyone to die either. Captain Metrand, Captain Patroni and all the rest was meant to survive. Davies gingerly got out of his chair and headed for the door leaving the files and folders behind him, he needed air and after this report and the story of the Concorde he needed therapy.

OOOOOO

Maggie Whelan closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath as she sat down briefly to be given the final make up touch before going on air. It had been a couple of tough months and some events she would never forget but she was happier now, stronger, and more comfortable with her own image. She still couldn't believe the lengths that Kevin had taken to keep her from exposing his business and she was even more perplexed about what had driven him to close those illegal deals in the first place. The latter was one question she would never be given any answer too.

"You're looking absolutely fabulous Miss Whelan," the make-up artist said with a warm smile.

Maggie opened her eyes and crinkled her nose at the statement. "Thanks, Sara," she returned as she gently vacated the chair and headed for the studio.

"There you are Maggie," Antonio Vest said with relief and then added teasingly. "I was worried I'd have to put Jeffrey in the hotspot. He's not that charming to look at though."

Maggie Whelan gave him a dazzling smile as she walked past him and took her usual position behind the camera.

Antonio gave her the thumbs up and then nodded to the camera man. "We're rolling."

"Good evening, this is the Nightly News with Maggie Whelan," his familiar voice boomed in her head set.

Maggie unconsciously straightened and focused as she looked right into the camera. She professionally reported the latest news but it as she was to report about the Harrison Industries there was a brief pause, a second of hesitation as recent events caught up with her. She forced herself to act as usual and focus solely on her job shutting out her conflicted emotions that threatened to surface. It was with a plumbing mood she realized that she still wasn't free of his grip.

"We can now report that Doctor Kevin Harrison's murder was a cover up from the company. Doctor Harrison's time of death coincide with his flight between Paris and Washington. He was at the time travelling in a private jet and had no travelling companion. The flight crew found him in the cabin with a small caliber pistol in his hand."

"As for why he committed such an act is still in the dark but speculations run high. The company is facing several charges for the Buzzard Incident as it is now called. William Halpern, Doctor Harrison's longtime friend and designer of the Buzzard, has admitted his personal involvement in reprogramming the drone to intercept the flight path of Concorde Flight 28 in route from Washington and Dulles International to Paris and the Charles de Gaulle Airport. It has been confirmed that it was a deliberate attempt to try and shoot down the supersonic aircraft carrying a complement of 109 with passengers and crew."

"The reason behind it was that Nightly News anchor Maggie Whelan-" She felt a knot form in her stomach as she thought about it. That he'd been trying to kill her and make it look like an accident that would have ended not only her life but those 108 other innocent people. She saw Antonio wave at her to keep going and after inhaling deeply she began to talk again. "-was that Maggie Whelan had received secret documents from a high official of the Harrison Industries, documents that relieved several illegal dealings with weapons in third world countries."

"According to the documents Doctor Kevin Harrison sold high quality weapons on the black market for several years and earned a lot of money for it. Money that he then invested in many goodwill projects to make it appear like the company had a genuine interest in doing good deeds. When the new Buzzard drone, developed for the US military, failed to bring down the Concorde, FWA Flight 28, Doctor Harrison wasn't discouraged to try another approach. He contacted a business associate in France, who is now under investigation for the involvement in the so called secret deals, and paid a considerable amount of money to a highly skilled ex Airforce pilot who was to fire at the airliner."

"The flight crew onboard the Concorde managed to avoid the missiles aimed at them by several evasive maneuvers in wait for the French Airforce to respond," Maggie said feeling the dryness in her mouth as she recited what had transpired over two months ago. She wasn't sure how much she was supposed to say or how much she was even allowed to say but at the moment she didn't care about secrecy, the world needed to know, it was secrecy that had gotten everyone in danger in the first place.

"Had Harrison Industries stopped there they might, just might, have gotten away with it. However, after confessing about the illegal dealings to the news anchor of Nightly News Kevin Harrison contacted, through his associates, Manuel Froelich, the chief engineer at the Federation World Airlines in France. For a considerable amount of money, the engineer reprogrammed the automatic lock system on the Concorde's cargo door so that it opened mid-flight. The purpose was to make the inevitable crash look like an accident. Had it worked 109 people would have lost their lives. However, several factors contributed to the doctor and his associates being brought to justice."

"When Manuel Froelich checked in his luggage on a flight to Bahamas he appeared nervous and on the edge. He dropped money on the floor and when the security guard tried to hand it back he took off running. The action made the guard suspicious and the engineer was chased across the tarmac and out on one of the eastern bound runways where he was caught in the tailwind of the Concorde bound for Moscow. Froelich life couldn't be saved, fortunately his intended target and it's passengers could after a terror filled flight that ended at the mountainside of the Swiss Alps," Maggie finished with a faint smile.

She suddenly felt exhausted after the delivery of the story. She thought she could hear faint applause from behind the camera and was encouraged to carry on with her Nightly News. She felt a gratitude to life and to the new friends she'd gotten on the ill-fated flight and she knew there was a picture of a Concorde behind her back at the very moment.

"Federation World Airlines has claimed insurance money for the accident and a new Concorde will be delivered within the year. However, FWA will fly with a supersonic aircraft in their jetfleet sooner. Their second Concorde was delivered today, brand new from the factory," Maggie said as a picture of Paul and Joe appeared behind her. "Federation World Airlines chief pilot Captain Paul Metrand and Captain Joseph Patroni, the same pilots that performed the miracle landing, personally flew the aircraft to Charles de Gaulle earlier today. FWA plans their first Atlantic flight with the aircraft already next week."

Maggie cast a quick sideway glance and saw the young stylish woman prepare the notes for the weather forecast. She shuffled her notecards with ease in front of her and then delivered news of a more national character before the camera man finally announced that she was off the air. With a sigh she sagged in the chair and closed her eyes. It was over and everything was fine.

"Excuse me Miss Whelan," apologized a young aide as she neared. "I know it's a bit early but I was just wondering how you would like to travel on your extended trip to Paris in two weeks."

Maggie smiled at her, scrutinizing her, the aide seemed so young and so unexperienced. Maggie wondered for a moment if she'd ever been that young herself. "It's all right," she finally managed with a tired smile. "I'll travel with the FWA. Book me on the Concorde flight. It's been a while since I've seen Captain Metrand, Joe and the others."

OOOOOO


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five –** Where Are They Now?

First Officer Pierre La Croix checked his watch for the second time where he stood in FWA's office near the main entrance hall, section eight, tarmac two at Dulles International Airport in Washington DC. The airport was bustling with activity and milling with people. However, the man he was looking for seemed to have vanished into thin air. He adjusted his uniform tie, corrected his hat and lightly brushed his jacket with his fingers as if it would straighten it out. He took a deep breath as he took one last glance in the mirror before turning to head out in the hallway.

Security was rushing past just as he got out and he hastily sidestepped glancing after them trying to spot however they were after. He shook his head sadly, it seemed the world was slowly changing, getting darker and harder for every day. He still had a hard time getting his head around the fact that some egomaniacal business magnate had tried to kill an entire load of passengers on an airliner just to stop one of them from exposing him and his deeds to the public. It gave him the creeps just to think about, how his working place had become unsafe.

Of course he knew there was a chance that every flight was his last but usually most of the risks could be eliminated by avoiding storm fronts, checking the aircraft properly, go through the checklists, recalculate vectors, fuel capacity, loads and such should it be required. In the end it was his own level of preparation that could cause trouble. However, now a parameter had been added. There had been times in the past when some crazy passenger had tried to blow the plane into pieces, tried to hijack an airliner and so on but now it was even possible to be targeted from the ground.

He shuddered involuntarily as he wrapped his arms around his middle, his shoulders tensing as he stared down the busy tarmac.

"If it isn't my first officer," a French accented voice called from behind, causing the roguishly handsome fortyish something, grey-haired man to jump.

Pierre hastily turned around, straightening, as he stared right into the face of Captain Paul Metrand. He chuckled. "Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?" he asked with a tease as he broke into a smile.

"You were so caught up in your own thoughts you wouldn't have heard an elephant coming up from behind you," the captain returned wryly. "I do hope you'll pay more attention when we're flying."

Pierre shook his head. "I'm shocked, sir, that you would even suggest-"he trailed off as Paul broke into a wide grin, then started laughing.

"I've never doubted you, you know that," the captain said as he turned serious again.

"Thank you, sir," he returned.

Paul snorted. "What's gotten into you anyway? You've never called me that before and as far as I know nothing has changed," he said suspiciously.

"You do know that you're the new Chief pilot around here don't you?" The first officer teased lightly.

Paul nodded but he didn't look pleased, causing Pierre to scrutinize him for a moment before finally saying; "You look uncertain."

"I don't know, I guess I wasn't prepared for everything that comes with the territory," he admitted, his voice sounding weary all of a sudden. "Schemes, reports, company service, meetings with the union, fleet coordination-"he trailed off. "My flight time will be reduced and one of the main reasons for me becoming a pilot was the freedom, one day in USA, one day in Australia, Europe, you name it."

Pierre shrugged. "Well, I always considered the job glassy but when you look at it that way it kind of takes the edge out of it," he said. "I thought it would be you and I just as before – the only difference being that I can now go around and brag about being the first officer to FWA's chief pilot," Pierre added with a smirk and then broke into a grin. "I'm sure the ladies would like that."

Paul eyed him sternly but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "You're so full of it," he said, unable not to chuckle as he started for the door to the office and lounge.

In reality they didn't work in teams always pared together. All of them had their own schedule to fly by. However, since there would be only two supersonic aircrafts at the company there was a good chance they would work a lot together.

"Seriously, Paul," Pierre said suddenly. "I'm glad you made it. You, that confident American and the shy Englishman. Come to think of it you seemed to have been a good combination."

Paul nodded. "I like and respect both of them for their skills and quick thinking. This might sound odd to you but they are the only ones who can understand what it was like up front in that "miracle landing" as the reporters like to call it," he said, the last words with a hint of bitterness.

"I've learned things about myself, discovered many errors, found sides of myself that I didn't know I had," he said and then chuckled humorlessly. "I've learned that no matter what they tell you about the situations in the simulators; how real they are. It will never be the same as the real thing, it cannot be the same."

"And every accident is unique," Pierre mused as he gently placed a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Tell you what, I hope I'll never have to endure what you did and that our future trips will be as smooth as silk."

The captain turned to his first officer, one he trusted and had done many voyages with before the accident albeit for another company. "Great, now you've jinxed us," he let on theatrically.

Pierre slapped his friend shoulder. "As the Americans say; 'A walk in the park.'"

"It's definite; I'll never survive," Paul groaned as he stepped into the office causing the attendants and VIP passengers alike to look at him with a frown having heard the last of their conversation.

Pierre followed Paul behind the counter and inside the office compartment of FWA's department at de Gaulle. "I was in the neighborhood and on my way to pick up my schedule for flying A320 until the new Concorde arrives. I saw your name on the board and heard you were on your way here. I just wanted to congratulate you on the job," he said simply with a wry grin as he slapped his colleague on the back.

Paul nodded thoughtfully, his smile faint and cautious as he studied his first officer. "Two months, Pierre. That's how long you'll have to fly regular aircrafts," he finally said enigmatically. "If everything goes according to plan."

OOOOOO

At the rescue center and private practice at the Swiss ski resort Heidi and Franz Horst stood out on their large balcony overlooking the snowy pists below. The snow crystals was glittering in the fresh and early morning air as the sun casts its first rays over the landscape. There was not a single trace of the Flight accident that had occurred several months before and had they told the story to some unknowing new tourist he or she would have looked at them like they'd grown two heads. However, most of the nations in Europe and the USA knew of the accident as it was cabled out on all the available networks at the time. Just after the crash there had been an increase in travel to the region as people wanted to have a look at the scene for themselves. After a while tranquility once again settled over the resort and everyday life returned to normal. The aircraft and the crash site had been meticulously searched for clues about the events and the Flight Investigators had been staying for quite a while. When they'd been finished the aircraft had been taken away and the ski lane had once again been cleared, inspected and prepared for new skiers.

Heidi gently put her hand over Franz' on the balcony railing and looked up at him with a smile. "It's not there anymore," she said somberly, talking about the Concorde. "It sat there in the snow for so long that I got used to having it there."

Franz snorted. "Took them long enough to get it off the ground," he said harshly but with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I wonder what happened." Heidi mused. "I wonder what all those passengers and crew are doing nowadays."

"Getting on with their lives probably," Franz suggested. "According to our local news reporter the company, Federation World Airlines, will be flying supersonic within the week between the states and France."

"What?" Heidi asked teasingly. "Have you been gossiping, Franz?"

"I liked them," the stern doctor admitted with a crocked smile. "I'm not that fond of flying but should we decide to go to the States as you want then we're going to travel with the FWA from Paris."

Heidi broke into a surprised grin. She'd been on her way to the states when she was young but unfortunate circumstances had hindered her and then she'd met her husband and been busy working all her life.

"Hold your horses. I didn't say when," he cautioned but he couldn't help but grin at her. "I was going to let it be a surprise but I can't seem to keep things from you can I?"

The nurse suddenly chuckled and shook her head. "You've never been good at surprises, Franz," she let on with a wink.

"Well, then perhaps you'll see some of them again," he said. "I'll book us in on a Concorde Flight from Paris to Washington. I have a feeling you'll at least meet Paul and Isabelle again. If our heroes have time for us."

" _I'm no hero. I was just doing my job. Then perhaps I didn't want to die just yet,"_ Paul's French accented English echoed in the back of her mind.

"Oh," Heidi said with a smile. "I think they have time. And while we're at it I suggest we take a tour of Paris. Perhaps we can ask our heroes to guide us?" She finished enthusiastically.

Franz sneaked an arm around her middle and hugged her before gently giving her a peck on the cheek. "Believe it or not but their accident made me realize something, Heidi. Life isn't just routine and work, it's about living while you're alive."

OOOOOO

"Hey," Joe said happily, his eyes twinkling, as he spotted Peter O'Neill and Joanna Jones and Mary Clark outside the office, obviously waiting for him. "I don't believe it. You're going the same way?"

Joanna shook her head and grinned. "Washington, seventeen hundred hours?" she said.

"That would be me," Joe concurred and then asked jovially; "How have you been?"

"It's been months, I still wake up at night in cold sweet at times," Joanna said sadly.

"Believe me when I say that we all have our ups and downs," Joe returned with a smirk. "Today it's up in Paris and down in Washington."

"Get out of here you big, old joke," Joanna teased as she slapped him on the shoulder.

"Now, Joanna," Peter admonished with a cunning smile. "Go easy on Papa Bear."

Joe laughed. "Come on kids, let's prepare the old girl for flight."

OOOOOO


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Six–** The Last Piece of the Puzzle

/Two months later/

Eli Sande, President of the Federation World Airlines glanced out through the office window situated on the third floor of the executive building at Dulles International Airport in Washington. The air was crisp and chilly this early autumn day but the sun was gently warming the people milling around outside.

He hastily checked his wristwatch and crossed his fingers. Today was to be a big day for the company and if everything went according to plan. Captain Metrand and Captain Patroni would be airborne and on their way from France at the very moment.

There was a knock on the door and without waiting for a reply Vice President Joshua Dalton popped his head in. "They've left," he said as if he knew what was on the other man's mind.

Eli nodded with a smirk. "I have both longed for and dreaded this day," he admitted.

Dalton walked into the room and sat down opposite his superior and friend. "The dynamic duo reported in just before I left and demanded we left some champagne for them," he said jovially, talking about the two captains.

"The dynamic duo," Eli echoed and shook his head in amusement. "The disaster twins, Papa Bear and the Pink Panther," he trailed off with a low chuckle. "Our boys have been called a lot of things lately."

"Media refers to them as heroes of the sky," Dalton said seriously.

"Yeah," Eli replied as got serious too. "For once media and I are in total agreement."

"There is one thing, Eli," Dalton said. "Was it necessary to pull them out of their schedule-"

One stern look from Sande silenced the vice president. "You weren't there but I was and I saw them in action, together. I wanted them to go and get it, together. Metrand needs that break from his position as fleet captain and Patroni would certainly appreciate flying something faster than a regular jet until the other aircraft is to be delivered," stated. "They will never fly together again as they have the same rank. I wanted them to have a normal flight together, like that disaster that ended up in the Alps was supposed to have been."

Dalton nodded solemnly. "About that," he began carefully. "There is one thing I don't understand."

"Only one?" Eli joked.

"What was the connection between the air force pilot and Kevin Harrison and where did he get the fighter jet?"

Eli sighed wearily. "Carmine Drake," he said darkly as he leveled his eyes with Dalton's. "I've only known it for a couple of days myself."

"Who was he?" Dalton asked.

"A former air force pilot, kicked out of service because of disciplinary problems. He immigrated to the African continent after getting released from duty and ended up at the doorstep of a powerful and wealthy man with a shady past," Eli explained.

"It's a long story isn't it?" Dalton said with a grimace as he scratched the back of his head.

"Basically, Drake became a trusted employee of the wealthy man but he longed for flying. With an unlimited amount of money supplied by his employer Drake decided to start developing his own fighter jet. He wanted a model to start from and after learning that a French fighter jet was to be sold on auction as scrap, he returned to France to fly it back to his new home and take it apart. His founder was a longtime friend of Doctor Kevin Harrison's associate in France so when he called upon a favor the wealthy African called Drake who happened to be in Paris that day and said that he could expect a nice bonus in his pocket if he took a little detour and did a little target practice on his way home. He never questioned the motives behind the attack and went in for the kill but he made one fatal mistake, he underestimated the cunning and experience of the commercial supersonics' flight crew," Eli finished proudly.

"Another coincidence," Dalton muttered in disbelief. "My goodness, life is made up by coincidences. If Maggie Whelan had never boarded flight 28 for Paris none of this would have happened. If Captain Patroni hadn't managed to lure the military drone…if Captain Metrand hadn't remembered there was a snowfield in the Alps…"

"Do you believe in faith, Joshua?" Eli asked rhetorically. "I didn't when I was in your age but too many things has happened lately for me to question whether or not things are meant to be. No matter how much you want to believe that you're in control of your own life you'll never be just that."

"That's way too deep for me," Dalton returned with a ghost of a smile.

"Let's skip the gloom then and crack open a bottle of Champagne. Let's celebrate all there is to celebrate. The Concorde, our people, our company, the downfall of Harrison Industries," he suggested as he got out of his chair and made for the door with Dalton in tow.

"I thought there was none left?" Joshua asked innocently.

Eli smirked enigmatically. "A president's privilege."

OOOOOO

Maggie looked up as she heard a clicking noise and her look of confusion vanished only to be replaced by a dazzling smile. Jeffrey smiled back as he halted into the room, his cane making the noise she'd heard as it touched the hard marble floor.

"Jeffrey!" she exclaimed happily as she walked over to greet him with a gentle hug. "I'm so glad to see you."

He blushed a little and then nodded with a tight smile. "I'm glad to be here," he said seriously.

An awkward silence suddenly settled over the two for a moment until the science reporter cleared his throat and turned to look directly at Maggie. "So, I saw you on the air that day," he began.

"Yeah," she whispered and ran a hand through her silky hair. "You have no idea how nervous I was."

"You were right, all that time you were right, Maggie. I'm sorry for doubting you in the beginning," he said.

"No, Jeffrey. I'm sorry for dragging you and Lennie into this mess. You could have been killed," she returned regrettably.

"Could have been," he reasoned with a smirk. "But it didn't happen. I'm standing right in front of you and even though you might be a bit accident prone at times-"

"I'm not," she interrupted feigning annoyance as she playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

He laughed. "Anyway, Maggie. I'm glad I was there. I fear what would have happened to you if Lennie hadn't stuck to you as well when I was at the hospital."

It was her time to laugh. "I'm standing right in front of you," she said echoing his words and then added confidently; "And I'm not going anywhere."

"There you are!" Lennie said in relief as he popped his head into the lounge. "I've been looking all over for you."

"And here's the mother hen," Jeffrey said lightly with a twinkle in his eyes.

Lennie rolled his eyes. "You two would be lost without me – literally," he complained. "They're waiting for you, they want to slap your backs and congratulate you."

"You mean us?" Maggie said with a smirk. "You're a part of this too Lennie."

Jeffrey nodded seriously. "Yeah, a big part of it."

"In that case, we'll all go and get our shoulders patted," Lennie said with a chuckle. "I do take it that you've both heard that Willie Halpern, the lead programmer at Harrison Industries, has been sentenced to twenty-five years for attempted mass murder?"

Maggie placed a hand in front of her mouth in astonishment.

"And that the Chairman of the board, John Field, is facing several charges ranging from withholding of information to corruptive business," Lennie added. "Did I mention that the Harrison Industries stocks are falling to zero and that several risk capital companies no longer wants to be associated with the doomed enterprise."

"I can't believe it's happening," Maggie said.

"You want me to pinch you?" Jeffrey volunteered innocently.

Maggie laughed. "Let's go and attend the party guys," she said happily.

OOOOOO

First Officer Pierre La Croix covered his mouth to stave off a yawn as he got into the taxi that would take him and the young flight engineer out to the aircraft. He rubbed his tired eyes and decided he was too old for the kind of party thrown by the company to celebrate the arrival of the new Concorde the day before. La Croix cast a glance in the rear mirror and noted with satisfaction that the young American didn't look that well rested either.

The taxi pulled up next to the aircraft only a moment later and the first officer nodded his thanks to the driver and opened the door to get out.

"The moment of truth," La Croix said with a grin as the flight engineer, Danny Gulliver, pushed the rear passenger door open and got out to join him.

"This is a dream coming through," Gulliver mused humbly as he watched the sleek aircraft in front of them.

La Croix nodded seeing the awe in the young face and suddenly wished the British flight engineer Peter O'Neil had been with him instead. But Mr. Sande had been specific when he said he wanted to give Gulliver the experience. O'Neil would fly with them occasionally but would be teamed with Captain Patroni and First Officer Hubbs when the other Concorde was to arrive in seven months.

La Croix had been young too but he'd forgotten how it was. He was used to fly with people who'd been at it for years and could call upon their experience. Before him he saw a man with self-confidence and good looks and that would take the engineer far but not all the way. However, he would learn along the ride.

"A beauty isn't she?" A familiar French accented voice spoke up from behind them.

Pierre turned around to see Captain Paul Metrand with a cautious smile on his face. "Paul," he exclaimed gladly as he tipped his hat in a mock salute then turned to introduce the other man. "Captain Paul Metrand this is our new flight engineer Danny Gulliver."

Gulliver eagerly reached out to shake the Captain's hand. "An honor, sir," he said.

"No need to get star struck, Gulliver," La Croix said with a chuckle. "He's human like the rest of us."

"Welcome onboard, Mr. Gulliver," Paul said politely with a cunning smile, ignoring the remark made by his first officer. "You better ignore Mr. La Croix, I've known him for years and during all that time he hasn't said much worth remembering."

"Thanks," La Croix said dryly.

"You're welcome," Metrand replied smugly and turned to the engineer. "So, fresh from the flight academy?"

"I have been on duty for two transatlantic flights and was fortunate enough to fly on several test flights for the factory," Gulliver informed proudly.

Paul and Pierre glanced at each other, their communication so honed in and well-tuned that the engineer never picked up on their slight uneasiness.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be a good compliment to FWA," Paul finally said.

Gulliver beamed at the comment and suddenly gave a low whistle as the cabin crew arrived in a taxi.

Paul and Pierre turned around to follow his gaze just in time to see Isabelle exit the cab's front passenger door and smile at them. Claude exited the back of the cab together with two stunning brunettes.

The team of four headed up to the trio waiting for them and Isabelle nodded toward Paul and Pierre before stepping up to Danny to properly introduce herself and her crew.

"Well, if you'd excuse us," Claude said politely. "We better get onboard and see what awaits us. I do hope they haven't forgot to equip her with everything we need."

Pierre chuckled. "The things you need to make sure the passengers are happy or the things you need to make it through the day?" he teased.

The steward made a face and shook his head as he, together with the new brunettes, made his way up the ladder.

Danny Gulliver watched them for a moment but then focused entirely on the head stewardess who made no move to follow the rest of them. Instead, to his surprise, she walked up to the captain and sneaked an arm around his middle.

"So," Paul began with a smile as he glanced from Isabelle and up at the new aircraft and then back again. "Are you ready for this?"

Isabelle let out a shaky breath and then smiled uncertainly at him. "As long as you don't plan to land on a mountainside," she said softly.

The captain chuckled and gently leaned in to give her a kiss. "Wouldn't dream about it," he said softly.

She crinkled her nose and a warm, genuine smile spread over her lips as they parted. "Well then, Captain Metrand," she said seductively.

He smiled coyly as he put an arm around her shoulder and steered her toward the first step. "Well then, Flight Attendant Delé," he said.

Behind them First Officer Pierre La Croix gently elbowed flight engineer Danny Gulliver. The young American looked surprised and unbelieving at the same time, eliciting a smile from the seasoned Frenchman.

"She's a no go, Romeo," La Croix said, amused at the dejected look on Gulliver's face. "And she's older than she looks."

"You know, I rarely say this but I know when I'm beaten," he replied. "Besides, with the boss out of the picture I'll have plenty of opportunity with the other girls onboard. I heard he's a ladies man, he's got quite a reputation."

Pierre La Croix sighed and rolled his eyes at him. "I think it's safe to say that those days are over. Now come on, let's get out of here and get this bird in the air," he said in amusement as they followed the couple toward the cabin.

Together the crew of seven began their preparations for yet another day, yet another flight.

OOOOOO

The End.

 _/Thank you for reading. I hope you liked the closure to this movie ;)_


End file.
